


Blood of the Smegged

by Janamelie, LordValeryMimes



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Multi, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10937616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janamelie/pseuds/Janamelie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordValeryMimes/pseuds/LordValeryMimes
Summary: The Boys from the Dwarf with a blood-curdling, side-splitting twist.





	1. by Lordvalerymimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felineranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/gifts).



> Dedicated to felineranger for the Tumblr post that started this idea percolating in both of our brains.

The man shivered as he stepped from the horse-drawn carriage and onto the mist-strewn dirt road. He pulled his traveling cloak more tightly around him as the tendrils of fog twirled around his ankles like tentacles. The driver set his suitcases down with a thud, turning and running back to the coach as if he had the devil at his heels.

“Thanks?” The man muttered over his shoulder as the driver snapped the reins and quickly disappeared into the blackness of the night. Another shiver trembled its way from the man’s shoulders down to his toes as he grabbed the handles of his suitcases. The soft thud of his heels against the dirt cut jarringly through the heavy silence as he hurried towards the glowing lights of the inn the driver had pointed out as he’d all but shoved him from his carriage.

The inn was a small double-storied building with stucco walls and a thatched roof. The heavy wooden door seemed to bark like an angry dog as the man rapped his knuckles against its knotted surface. He waited impatiently, hopping from foot-to-foot to delay the cold sinking into his bones before he heard a woman’s voice from behind the door. “Cine e acolo?”

“Erm… it’s Mr. Lister. I was scheduled to arrive today, you’re supposed to have a room for me?”

A tiny window within the door opened at eye-level, and the man squinted at the sudden light. A pair of steely grey eyes peered at him from a bed of wrinkles. “You are the Englishman?” The woman spoke with a thick Romanian accent as she looked the man up and down.

“Yes, it’s Lister. David Lister. I believe Mr. Hollister sent you a letter about my arrival?” The woman squinted as she continued to peer at him through the small window.

“But you are child. Englishman is supposed to be grown man.” She looked him up and down incredulously, long lines creasing the landscape of her forehead.

Lister sighed, as he’d been through almost this exact same conversation on every leg of his journey. “I promise, I’m not as young as I look. Could I please come in? It’s a bit cold out here.” The tiny window slammed shut and for one dreadful moment, Lister thought the woman might not let him in, until the sound of several heavy iron bolts and latches being released hit his ears like music. The door swung inward with a rusty creak and Lister pulled off his hat as he stepped inside.

The inn was sparsely furnished with dark wooden tables laid out in rows, oil lamps hanging from thick beams on the ceiling, and a fire roaring away in a stone fireplace. Lister was grateful for the warmth and light after his chilly journey through the Transylvanian countryside. Apart from himself and the old woman, the inn appeared to be empty.

“Thank you, Mrs…?”

“Doamnă Bunică,” the woman intoned solemnly as she stood with her hands on her hips. Lister bowed, his hat pressed against his chest. “You are certain you are Englishman? You look like boy.” She stepped forward and grabbed Lister’s face in her ruddy palms as she turned his head from side-to-side to inspect him like a horse at auction.

“Yesh, ma’am. I promish.” Lister mumbled through his squished cheeks.

“Hmph,” she snorted through her nose as she dropped her hands back to her hips where they settled into her heavy skirts. “You are to stay at the castle, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m handling some business for the Count.” The woman mumbled something in Romanian before hastily making the sign of the cross. “Is everything alright?” Lister asked.

She busied herself with straightening out her apron as she ignored his question, “You are hungry?”

“Yes, very!” There was a heavy smell of garlic in the air, and Lister felt his stomach begin to rumble. It had been hours since he’d last eaten.

“Your room is at top of the stairs,” she gestured to a nearby wooden staircase. “There is water, you may wash. I bring supper.”

“Thank you,” Lister smiled as he bowed to her again and she turned and walked towards a doorway that Lister assumed must be the kitchen. He lifted his suitcases and made his way up the stairs, grateful for a chance to wash off some of the travel dust, and finally have a bite to eat.

Several minutes later Lister returned, without his suitcases and with a new spring in his step at the prospect of food. As promised, the old woman was setting out a place for him at a table next to some steaming crocks and a fat loaf of bread. “Sit,” she barked sternly as she set a small glass down in front of him and filled it with a yellowish liquid from a round bottle.

“What’s this?”

“Țuică. Is good for you, drink up.” She set the bottle down on the table before she headed back to the kitchen in a swirl of skirts.

Lister sniffed cautiously at the liquor before taking a small sip. The țuică went down as smoothly as a pyroclastic flow from an active volcano. He grimaced as the liquor seemed to sear every inch of his esophagus as it went down, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “Oh god,” he shuddered as he stuck out his tongue, hoping that the air would somehow quench the burning sensation. “God, that’s revolting.”

Doamnă Bunică returned from the kitchen carrying a hot tureen of soup and Lister hurriedly snapped his tongue back into his mouth. “The țuică is good?” She leaned over him, her gaze full of stern expectation.

“Erm. It’s very… unusual?” Lister tried to smile through the pained expression on his face.

“You finish up,” she said as she set down the soup. “Is good for the stomach,” she patted the apron that draped over her own ample abdomen as she continued to stare at Lister expectantly.

Lister looked down at the tiny glass in despair. Not wanting to be rude, he took the tiniest sip and smiled up at his host as he held the burning liquid in his cheeks. Madame Bunică nodded happily as she returned to the kitchen. Lister immediately spat the țuică back into his glass, gagging at the taste as he looked around desperately. He spied a small chink in the floorboards, and without wasting a second more to think, he quickly poured every drop of the liquor into it. He snapped back up and glanced nervously at the kitchen door, breathing a sigh of relief that Madame Bunică had not caught him. She returned after just a few moments with an earthenware pitcher and a glass. Lister breathed a sigh of relief as she filled it full of plain water. He took a long, grateful sip as she began ladling hot soup into Lister’s bowl. “A thousand thanks. I’ve not eaten for ages. It smells delicious. What is it?” He asked.

“Ciorbă de usturoi,” she responded in her thick accent. “In English, garlic soup.”

“Ah. And that?” Lister gestured at the large pot on the table which was filled with a rich looking brown stew.

“Stufat. Is stew, with lamb and garlic.”

“You like your garlic, eh? What about the sausages?”

“Fasole cu cârnați. Garlic sausage.”

“And let me guess…” Lister grinned at her as he pointed to the loaf of bread. “Garlic bread?”

“Yes. Why?” She pressed her lips together and planted her fists on her hips. Lister felt like a child about to be chastened by their stern mother. “You no like garlic?”

“I don’t suppose there’s garlic cake for dessert as well, is there?” Lister tipped his head towards the kitchen with a wink. The stern look he received in return made his grin melt from his face like ice cream off a cone.

“Eat. You will need your strength, English boy.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He tucked into his dinner eagerly and the old woman disappeared into the kitchen. Everything was delicious, if aromatic, and as Lister ate he took in the interior of the inn. The painted stucco walls were decorated here and there with crosses and crucifixes, and every window was strung with heavy bulbs of garlic. Above the fireplace, masked by several more strings of garlic, was a particularly vicious looking wooden crossbow. After a while, Doamnă Bunică returned, rubbing her hands briskly with a dishcloth.

“Supper is good?”

“It’s delicious, thank you.”

“You are welcome, English boy.” She pulled up a stool across the table from Lister and looked at him solemnly as she lit up a fat cigar. Lister smiled around his mouthful of stew, the only other woman he had known to smoke cigars had been his own grandmother.

“So is it just you here running the inn by yourself? Is there a Mister Bunică?”

“No.” She blew a hazy puff of smoke over the table. “He die, many years ago.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

Doamnă Bunică waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, “Do not trouble yourself, English boy.” Her thin brows furrowed as she leaned towards him. “There are worse things than death in this world.”

Lister swallowed with difficulty, his stew suddenly seeming to have grown thick. “What sort of things do you mean?

She stared hard at Lister for a moment, her eyes glittering in the firelight. “What business do you have at the castle?”

“Castle Rimmer?”

Doamnă Bunică hissed and made the sign of the cross in the air in front of Lister. “We do not speak that name.”

“Wha’? Rimmer?”

She pressed her fingers to her lips and hissed again as she sliced the air furiously with her other hand. “Do not speak the name, English boy! It is bad luck to speak it!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Why is it bad luck?”

Doamnă Bunică ignored his question and repeated her own. “Why must you go to the castle? What business do you have there?”

“Real estate. I’m helping the Count with some new acquisitions he’s interested in. But what does…”

“You should leave, English boy.” She cut him off abruptly, her voice heavy with emotion. “You should go home, and not trouble yourself with things you do not understand.”

“What things? What do you mean?”

“That castle and all who live there, they are ghinion. Bad luck.”

The corner of Lister’s mouth turned up inadvertently. He had heard that the locals in this area could be superstitious, but he wasn’t expecting quite this level of theatrics.

“I make my own luck Madame Bunică,” He tipped her a wink and a smile as he took a sip of his water. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m sure I can handle Count Rimmer.”

The old woman suddenly took on the air of a cat with its hackles up. Her eyes seemed to pop from her lined face as she hurriedly traced the sign of the cross in the air and gnashed her teeth at Lister. “You are young, and you do not understand the ways of this place, English boy. We have lived for centuries with the castle and its people. You should not go there.”

“But isn’t the Count terribly old?” Lister asked as he set his glass down. “The records say he’s lived in the castle for years. How much trouble could he possibly be?”

“If you have any sense, you should do nothing with him. He is blestemat. Cursed.”

“Cursed? What sort of a curse?”

“It is bad luck to speak of it, English boy. But the castle, it is not safe. It is no place for you.” She took one last puff on her cigar before stubbing it out in a clay ashtray.

Lister broke off a large hunk of garlic bread and smiled at the old women. “I promise you, I’m sure I can handle Count Rimmer, cursed or…” His boasting came to an abrupt halt as a wild-eyed Doamnă Bunică suddenly grasped his face in her rough hands and began to squeeze it.

“Do. Not. Use. That. Name.” Her hands grew tighter with each syllable.

“Shorry, shorry! Won’t happen again. I shwear!”

“No swearing either!” She dropped his face and crossed herself as she shook her head. “It is late, you are finished?”

Lister looked forlornly at the chunk of garlic bread which he’d dropped in surprise when she had grabbed him, but he didn’t wish to cause any further trouble. “Yes, it was all delicious. Thank you.”

“Good.” She stood up and shooed him away with the ends of her apron. “Upstairs with you. Tomorrow your journey will be long.”

“Couldn’t I just have a cigarette first?”

“No smoking here,” She said sternly.

“What d’you mean, no smoking?” Lister laughed as he pulled his silver cigarette case from his pocket and pressed one to his lips. “You just had a cigar,” he mumbled from behind the cigarette as he lit it.

Doamnă Bunică reached out with surprisingly fast fingers, and plucked the cigarette from Lister’s mouth. “No smoking, English boy.” She shook her finger at him before she tossed the cigarette to the floor and stamped it out under her foot. “You are too young, is not good for you.”

Lister was about to protest when he saw the massive crossbow out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly had second thoughts. In spite of her grandmotherly face, Doamnă Bunică didn’t look like the sort of woman whose buttons you wanted to push. He slipped his lighter and cigarette case back into his pocket and bowed to her as he stood. “Thank you again ma’am. I apologize if I offended you. It was not my intention.”

She shook her head as she gathered up the dishes. “Do not worry, English boy. And good night. May you sleep well.”

“Goodnight.” Lister stretched and yawned as Madame Bunică disappeared through the kitchen door. Suddenly the weight of his long days spent traveling across Europe seemed to catch up with him and he struggled to keep his eyes open as he climbed the stairs. He only managed to slip out of his jacket and tie before he collapsed into the bed and fell fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

“Please, I swear I couldn’t eat another bite.” Lister groaned as Doamnă Bunică set a large bowl of stew in front of him.

“You must eat, English boy.”

“Breakfast was just a few hours ago, I couldn’t possibly have any more.” That morning Doamnă Bunică had practically force-fed him almost an entire tray of cold garlic sausages and garlic bread, insisting that he needed his strength for the journey. Lister’s stomach was still uncomfortably full, he turned to hide a belch as his host glared down at him. Suddenly there was the dull thudding of hooves from outside the door of the inn.

“That must be my ride!” Madame Bunică glared at him and muttered something in Romanian under her breath as he ran to get his things.

A few minutes later, Lister watched gleefully as the odd-looking coach driver tossed his luggage into the back of the carriage. _Perfect timing! She can’t make me eat any more damned garlic now!_ As Lister turned to say his goodbyes, he thought for a minute that a wall of garlic bulbs was pouring from the wall of the inn. It was Madame Bunică, her arms loaded with several wreaths of garlic that she began to festoon over Lister’s head and shoulders.

“Wha’? What’s all this, ma’am?” The garlic crackled as it settled against his coat like an aromatic life-vest.

“Is protection,” she muttered as she tossed another wreath over his head.

“Protection? Protection from wha’?” He staggered under the weight of another wreath of bulbs.

“Enough questions, English boy.” She pulled a large packet wrapped in brown paper from the pocket of her apron, and pressed it into his hands. “Lunch for you. Your journey will be long, you must keep your strength.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am.” Lister said politely as he cursed inwardly. ”You’ve been most kind to me.” Lister shifted awkwardly under his garlic mantle, and tucked the packet under his arm.

“Take care, English boy.” The old woman pulled him into a bone-crunching hug before she grasped his face in her hands, and kissed him roughly on both cheeks. Lister squinted and winced under the assault of wrinkled lips and pungent wafts of garlic. He alternated between feeling peeved and touched by her maternal attentions. Doamnă Bunică and his own grandmother had certainly been cut from the same cloth.

“I will, I promise.”

“You will take this,” Doamnă Bunică intoned dramatically as she slipped a large wooden crucifix on a chain from around her neck, and placed it around Lister’s where it quickly disappeared among the forest of garlic.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Take it. And be safe, English boy.” She gave his cheek a firm pinch and looked at him solemnly as he nodded his thanks, and stepped into the front of the coach. Doing his best to peer over his massive collar of garlic, he nodded to the driver, and raised his hand in farewell as the horses trotted forward and pulled the coach out of the village.

Once the village was out of sight, Lister began to pull the garlic wreaths from around his neck, and toss them into the trees at the side of the road. “Well that’s a load off,” he muttered, as he tossed the last wreath away. It landed cleanly around the branch of a tree and Lister crowed, “Bullseye!” He grinned and looked towards his driver. Lister did a double-take as he got his first good look at the man and realized that he was wearing the most unconvincing toupee he’d ever seen. He looked to be somewhere in his early 40s, but his head was topped by a thick mop of heavy golden ringlets that hung well past his ears. Lister just managed to hide a reflexive chuckle by clearing his throat. The man hadn’t said a single word to him since the coach pulled up outside of the inn. He sat stone-faced, his false curls flapping round his face as the coach bumped its way down the road. “The name’s Lister, Dave Lister, sir. And you are?” The man made no response, and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I suppose I’ll just call you ‘sir’ then. So, do you work up at the castle?”

The man tipped his buggy eyes towards Lister momentarily, but remained silent as the coach lurched forward over the bumpy dirt road.

“Or are you from the village, maybe?” Lister leaned in towards the driver, trying to emphasize the fact that he was talking to him. He received nothing but silence in response. The man glanced nervously in Lister’s direction and gave a weak, almost panicked smile in response.

“Strong silent type, eh? Alright then. Guess I’ll just settle in and enjoy the scenery.” Lister sat back in his seat and noticed the wooden crucifix still hanging from his neck. He snorted and shook his head as he stuffed it under his coat.

They rolled along for several minutes in silence. “Might as well see what Doamnă Bunică made us for lunch. At least it can’t be more garlic stew.” Lister chuckled as he pulled the brown paper packet from under his arm and unwrapped it. He wrinkled his nose and groaned as the heavy aroma smacked into his stomach like a sledgehammer. “Garlic and onion sandwiches. Smeg.”

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Lister awoke with a start. He winced as he sat upright and his neck gave a mighty crack. After miles and miles of dark forest and a belly loaded with a near fatal amount of garlic, Lister had easily drifted off to sleep. The driver gawked at him, his blue eyes like saucers as he cast an offended glance at his slobber-covered shoulder. Lister reddened, and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You know my mum always told me that I slept like a Saint Bernard.” The driver pursed his lips and clicked the reins, urging the horses on faster. The sky above them was beginning to grow dark and it lent the surrounding trees a sinister air that had been absent in the daylight.

“So are we nearly there then?” The driver cast a buggy-eyed stare of irritation at Lister before returning his eyes to the road.

“Sorry I asked then.” Lister settled back into the cushioned seat with a sigh. He certainly hoped that the Count turned out to be more of a conversationalist than his driver was.

A sudden yowl screeched its way into Lister’s eardrums over the racket of the wooden wheels as they rolled along the dirt path. “What was that?” He sat upright, his eyes peering through the deepening darkness, as he tried to find the source of the hideous noise. Again, a shrieking yowl emanated from the forest like a tiger’s roar. Lister squinted into the twilight and suddenly he could see them. All along the edges of the forest, milling just out of reach of the road were dozens, possibly hundreds of yowling black cats. Their combined screeching made a cacophony not unlike a choir entirely peopled with tone-deaf nuns.

Lister stared in disbelief at the odd menagerie of mewling moggies. “What’s with the cats? Is this a normal sort of a thing?” He covered his ears to blot out the horrid sound, but the driver continued on as if there was nothing at all unusual about several hundred cats deciding to all band together for an early evening acapella session in the forests of Transylvania.

Gradually, the forest thinned, and with it the screeching cats. Lister breathed a sigh of relief as the coach began to climb up into the mountains, for he knew that Castle Rimmer must be getting near at last. The moon hung heavy and full in the sky as the coach climbed higher and higher into the Carpathian peaks.

Lister shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him as the air grew chillier. His eyes watered as the driver urged the horses on faster still, whipping up the mountain breeze. Lister’s teeth chattered as the coach’s wheels began to clatter against cobblestones. Up ahead a large stone archway stood lit by flickering orange oil lamps. They passed underneath it into a stone courtyard and Lister felt a twinge of fear as he got his first sight of Castle Rimmer. It stood, a vast facade of stone and mortar, imposing under its cloak of darkness. Only a scarce few rooms were lit from within, giving it a very sinister appearance. With a jolt, and a bump, the driver pulled up to a massive set of double doors with an elaborate wrought-iron knocker.

Lister slid from his seat, grateful after the hours-long journey to finally be able to stretch his travel-weary limbs. The driver grabbed his suitcases from the back of the coach, and scurried away through a darkened archway without a word, his curls bobbing rhythmically.

“Hey! Am I going to get those back?” Lister groaned as he stretched his back and gazed up at the shadowy exterior of the castle as it loomed above him. “Maybe Doamnă Bunică was right, what on earth have I got myself into?” He let out a weary sigh, as he stepped up the stone stairs, and reached for the iron knocker.


	2. Chapter 2

The knocker was lighter than its appearance suggested. Lister jumped as it thumped sonorously against the ancient-looking wood. If there had been anyone to hear him he would have cracked a joke about waking the dead.

Maybe not the best train of thought to have in a place like this. He glanced over his shoulder at the shadowy courtyard and clutched his cloak more tightly around him.

Just as cold and panic were beginning to seep into his bones, he heard a scrabbling noise on the other side of the door and a small panel slid back. "Yes?" The face and voice were a little wary but not unfriendly.

"Um, I'm Mr Lister. From the law firm Kochanski & Hollister. I'm here to see the Count on business?"

His heart sank slightly at the accustomed glance at his youthful features, but as he was clearing his throat to defend his actual age, the frown gave way to an unexpected smile. "Of course! Just a moment, sir."

The unlocking and unbolting of these doors was an even louder and longer drawn out affair than it had been at the inn. Lister shifted his weight from side to side and wondered wistfully if there was any chance that the Count had a beer cellar. He suspected wine was a lot more likely.

Eventually the doors deigned to part company and creaked ponderously inwards. Lister forced himself to wait politely as he squinted at the little he could see of the interior.

A tall man with bushy dark hair standing straight up from his head stepped through the widening gap. "Welcome sir, welcome! I am Krytfield, Count Rimmer's butler."

_Looking like that, who else would you be?_

He felt a little guilty at his initial reaction as he got a better look at the butler. Unkempt hair aside, he had a pleasant if slightly off-kilter face. He appeared to be somewhere in his thirties and was dressed simply in black with a neatly pressed white shirt. His bow was courteous but slightly awkward. "May I take your cloak, sir?"

"Thank you." As the man stepped closer he flinched slightly, but quickly recovered and moved behind Lister to help him out of his cloak. Lister's cheeks burned as he realised that he must absolutely reek of garlic.

He was even more disconcerted when, having carefully folded Lister's travelling cloak over his arm, Krytfield shot a startled glance at his chest. Looking down, he groaned silently as he remembered the clunky wooden cross he hadn't had the heart to treat as unceremoniously as the wreaths of garlic.

_Great. I look more like a missionary than a solicitor. Wonderful start._

"Sir, may I be so bold as to speak frankly for a moment?"

"Be my guest." He regretted his choice of phrase the second it was out of his mouth.

"I would strongly suggest divesting yourself of that ... adornment before you meet the Count at dinner. His Excellency does not care for the trappings of religion."

"Of course." He hastily removed the crucifix and crammed it into his trouser pocket. "It's not even mine. It was a gift."

The butler nodded. "Naturally, sir." His tone seemed slightly weary.

Before Lister could decide whether to ask if this was a regular occurrence when Castle Rimmer had visitors, his attention was drawn back to the huge double doors as they were slammed back into place. For the first time he looked closely at the other servants who had assisted the butler in the strength-sapping operation.

One was his coach driver; the other appeared to be his identical twin. The only discernable difference between them was that the driver’s brother was unabashedly bald on top with long curtains of hair framing his face. If not for the situation he was in, Lister would have laughed out loud at the comically contrasting hairstyles.

"Hey, what did you do with my luggage?"

Looking cornered, the man shook his head and gestured upwards.

"He means he took it up to your room, sir. The Skutters are mute."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Lister blushed. How had that possibility not occurred to him?

"Not to worry, sir. You weren't to know. Would you care to step this way?"

He followed the glow of an oil lamp through the dimly lit hall and stepped carefully over the frame of a door studded with multi-coloured glass and cut into a wood-panelled wall. It felt oddly like entering a church. The reason for that became immediately apparent as he emerged into the Castle proper.

 

 

A vast and empty expanse like the hollowed out shell of a cathedral stretched in front of him, broken only by the massive round pillars holding up the distant roof and the stone staircase which dominated the centre. It was so wide that a party of travellers could have comfortably set up camp for the night on the platforms which were set into the dizzyingly high ascent.

There were plenty of doors leading off the numerous balconies but the only visible windows were on the walls on either side of the staircase, dozens of feet out of reach and devoid of glass, leaving the interior at the mercy of the elements. Apart from the servants' lamps and candles, the creamy full moon provided the only illumination.

"Wow," was all Lister could muster.

"Impressive, isn't it, sir?" Krytfield beamed proudly. "The first Count Rimmer built this castle from the spoils of the first Carpathian war, having played a major role in winning it for his King and subsequently being granted his title and lands. He was determined that no visitor to the Castle would ever forget it and set out to build the grandest entrance hall imaginable."

"Oh, I thought that was the entrance hall we just came from."

"Certainly not, sir. That was the lobby!"

"Of course. How silly of me." Lister craned his neck in amazement as he followed the butler across the moon-dappled flagstones.

He cautiously negotiated the steep and uneven steps, determined not to make a fool of himself. They were around two-thirds of the way up when Krytfield turned onto a side staircase leading onto one of the balconies. Lister stepped thankfully onto solidly flat ground and passed through the nearest doorway, emerging into a corridor which - like the lobby - was lit to the barest minimum with oil lamps and scattered candles. If not for the pools of moonlight afforded by the narrow, diamond-paned windows, Lister would have been in constant danger of tripping. He stared at the butler's surefooted tread. Of course, he must know the castle like the back of his hand, as must the unnerving, candelabra-bearing twins.

One of the Skutters peeled off from the party and quietly disappeared. The other fell into step behind Lister, shining a welcome light at his feet.

As dingy corridor followed dingy corridor, he couldn't resist commenting. "Bit dark in here, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir - the Count dislikes waste. Oh..." The man turned and stared at him appraisingly. "I was forgetting..."

"Forgetting what?"

"Never mind, sir. I will put in a word with His Excellency. I'm sure he'll allow some extra candles in honour of your visit."

"Er ... how nice of him." _Oh no, I'm working for a tightwad. What kind of miser makes their servants fumble around in the dark like this?_

 

 

 

The room he was eventually ushered into was lighter and cosier than he had expected. It contained a modest four-poster bed and a small writing desk and chair, as well as a dressing table and wardrobe, all carved from the same dark wood. A small bathroom adjoined it and Lister was surprised at how pleased he was to see an old-fashioned bath. He had been far too tired for more than a quick wash at the inn. Suddenly all he wanted to do was to scour the stench of garlic from his body.

"Dinner is in just under an hour, sir. I will send one of the Skutters to fetch you."

Lister cleared his throat. He always felt guilty imposing on servants, but if there was ever a time to avail himself of aristocratic hospitality, this was it. "Er, would it be inconvenient for someone to bring up some hot water so I can have a bath? Sorry to ask but I've had a long journey..."

"Oh, of course not, sir! No trouble at all." He gestured to the curly-wigged Skutter hovering in the doorway, who shrugged and vanished. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Lister assured him there wasn't, thanked him and let out a huge sigh as the door closed behind him. He sank down onto the bed and tried to collect his thoughts. His brain was still whirling when he started at an intrusively loud knock. "Come in."

The Skutters wheeled in what looked like an upturned boiler with an attached pipe and began filling his bath. In a huge place like this with so many floors, the strange device must be invaluably labour-saving, Lister realised.

"Thank you," he called after them as they departed. He thankfully turned the key in the lock, stripped off his travel-crumpled clothes and slid into the toasty-warm water with a sigh of satisfaction.

He spent rather too long luxuriating and had to hastily dry and dress, expecting another knock any moment. It came just as he finished buttoning his best shirt. Frantically combing his hair, he took a last glance in the round dressing table mirror before following his coach driver back out into the corridor.

 

 

 

Blond Toupee - as Lister mentally dubbed him - showed no more regard for Lister's newness to his surroundings than previously. Lister found himself almost running to keep up as they traversed the maze of corridors. The route they took did not incorporate the ostentatious entrance hall. Instead Lister found himself in a better lit, clearly more frequently used part of the castle.

A shallow flight of steps led into a medium-sized, candlelit dining hall. Its walls were panelled with dark wood and adorned with shields and crests. A long wooden table was set for one.

"Isn't the Count joining me?" His query met the expected blank stare as Blond Toupee turned and left.

He sat and waited, not knowing what else to do. Fortunately for his now growling stomach, it was only five minutes or so before he heard the sound of approaching wheels.

Krytfield and the other Skutter - whom Lister decided was now Bald Curtains - pushed in trolleys bearing promising-looking lidded plates.

He inhaled appreciatively as Krytfield lifted the lid on a steaming tureen of clear soup and began ladling it into a bowl. "Say when, sir."

He allowed the dish to be filled almost to the brim before repeating his question regarding the Count's whereabouts.

"The Count has already dined, sir. He will join you after your meal."

Lister's slight unease at not knowing exactly when to expect the Count was overcome by his hunger. He set to with gusto, working his way through the soup, the main course of stuffed and breaded meatballs and the dessert of crispy-thin pancakes in a sweet fruity sauce. It was all mouth-watering.

He was sitting back in his chair feeling pleasantly stuffed when Krytfield announced: "The Count is on his way, sir." He climbed the flight of steps and stood to attention beside the doorway.

Unsure what to do, Lister sat up rigidly in his seat. Was he supposed to stand? Why hadn't he asked Krissie about this?

Krytfield coughed for attention. "His Excellency, Count Arnold Rimmer."

Blond Toupee entered the hall, brandishing a heavy candelabra in front of him. He stationed himself on the other side of the doorway as the Count himself appeared.

He was a tall, slender man of around thirty, with pale skin set off by reddish-brown curls. His elegant evening wear was topped off by a long black cape. He glided down the steps and bowed extravagantly in Lister’s direction, his cape swirling and revealing a rich blue lining. "Enchant-aay!"


	3. Chapter 3

Lister ran his tongue self-consciously over his teeth as he stood. He frantically hoped that no remnants of his meal were clinging to his incisors, just waiting to dampen his first meeting with the Count. He winced as his chair scraped against the wooden floor and made an unpleasant sound. Lister smoothed out his jacket as he walked towards the staircase. The Count, still bent in half in a courtly bow, raised his head and caught Lister’s eye. He suddenly froze, his mouth gaping and his hand still raised at his side as if he was holding the string of an invisible kite.

Lister awkwardly held out his own hand as he moved towards the apparently paralysed man, wondering if the Count had somehow pulled a muscle. "It's an honour to meet you, Count."

"Sir, are you alright?" Krytfield bustled forward and offered a hand to the Count. He took it and straightened up, visibly collecting himself.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you, Krytfield.” The Count cleared his throat as he continued to stare at his guest. “You’re Mr Lister then?”

“Yes, sir.” Lister’s lips parted in surprise as he got his first good look at the Count. He had been expecting an older gentleman. Someone with a balding head of white hair, a wrinkled face, and a thick Romanian accent. Count Rimmer couldn’t have been further from his mental picture. The youthfulness of his features was only accentuated by the paleness of his skin. His eyes were a striking mixture of green and brown, and his hair had been painstakingly coiffed into stylish waves with generous amounts of hair cream. He also spoke in a crisp, posh English accent. Lister felt a shiver go through him as the Count grasped his hand with unnaturally cool fingers.

“The Mr Lister who was sent by Mr Hollister from England?” Lister recognized the familiar look of incredulity at his age as the Count continued to stare at him.

“Yes, sir. I promise that I’m not as young as I seem.” Lister chanced a smile, but the Count’s face suddenly fell and his lips pressed into a grimace.

“What on earth is that?” The Count queried as he sniffed at the air, his prominent nostrils flaring.

 _Oh smeg. The garlic!_ Lister reddened as the Count leaned in, sniffed at him like a bloodhound, and then recoiled in alarm.

“Is that GARLIC?” The Count uttered the word with all the revulsion of someone who’d just stepped in cat sick.

“Sorry about that. The lady who owned the inn back in town, she was a bit heavy-handed with it.”

“Well that’s an understatement,” The Count pulled a small handkerchief from his breast pocket with his free hand and held it over his nose.

Lister backed away, his hands raised in apology as he let go of the Count’s fingers. “I’m awfully sorry, I’m sure it will wear off in a day or two.”

“It’s fine. Fine.” The Count’s watering eyes said otherwise as he shifted a few more inches away from Lister and tucked his handkerchief back into his jacket. “I apologize for my reaction, I just have a particularly strong aversion to garlic.”

“Please, I’m the one who should be apologizing. It wasn’t my intention to show up smelling like an Italian restaurant.” Lister grinned sheepishly as the Count regained some of his composure.

“So, you’re the one who’s going to be handling my legal affairs over the purchase of my English estate?” Lister bristled at the implication of the words as the Count looked him up and down.

“I assure you that I’m more than capable of handling your affairs regardless of my age, sir.” Lister straightened his spine and clasped his hands behind his back. _Great, not only do I reek of garlic, the bloke thinks I should still be in short trousers._

The Count shook his head as he raised his hand. “Forgive me, Mr Lister. It’s just that you’re not quite what I was expecting.” The Count’s eyes made a slow crawl up from Lister’s legs until they settled back on his face.

“Forgive me, sir. But you're not exactly what I was expecting either. I was expecting someone much older.”

A smile flitted across the Count’s face, and Lister noticed that his canine teeth were particularly long and sharp. “I’m older than I look. It’s the Carpathian air, it keeps the blood young.” There were more flashes of white teeth as the Count continued. “I’m sorry if I have offended you in any way. Mr Hollister said you were the right man for the job, so I would assume he knows of your capabilities.”

“I’ve been working with Mr Hollister for many years sir. I’m well equipped to help you with your acquisitions.”

“Of course, I’m certain that you are. Well, now that you’ve dined, would you care to join me in the sitting room? Krytfield, please bring in some port for our guest, and...” The Count pulled the butler towards him and whispered something in his ear.

“Certainly, Count Rimmer sir.” Krytfield turned sharply and disappeared through a doorway as the Count led Lister into an adjacent room. The sitting room was built from heavy slabs of stone, but was warmed considerably by the presence of two ornate red sofas, a thick oriental carpet, and a roaring fire in an elaborate fireplace.

“Please,” the Count intoned as he gestured towards one of the sofas. Lister sat himself down as he took in his surroundings. The castle was beautiful, but the opulence and grandeur left him feeling very out of place. The Count sat on the sofa across from Lister. He screwed up his face before sliding himself a few inches further away from his guest. Lister inwardly cursed himself for eating that last garlic sandwich instead of just tossing it over the side of the coach.

The Count crossed his long legs clad in crisply pressed trousers and Lister looked down self-consciously at his own travel-wrinkled knees. He cleared his throat nervously as he tried to smooth them out inconspicuously. The Count remained oddly silent, as he sat primly on the sofa. Lister squirmed and cleared his throat again as he wondered what he should do. _Should I say something? Or should I wait for him to say something? He’s just staring at me. Why is he staring at me? Should I stare back at him, or should I look away? It’s the garlic isn’t it? He’s thinking to himself, “Who is this pungent foreigner, and WHY have I invited him into my beautiful home?”_

Lister suppressed a sigh of relief as Krytfield returned bearing a tray with a crystal decanter of port, and a single small glass.

“Thank you, Krytfield.” The Count nodded his head at the butler.

“Not at all sir, it is my duty to serve.” Krytfield offered the tray to Lister who took the lone glass.

“Will you not be joining me, Count Rimmer?”

“No, Mr Lister. You see I never drink… wine.” The Count’s eyes suddenly widened as he sputtered, “That is… I mean I’ve just never particularly cared for wine. That’s all.”

Lister chuckled as Krytfield filled his glass, “I’m more of a beer man myself.” _I’m just glad it’s not more of that dreadful_ _ț_ _uică stuff._

“Are you?” The Count cleared his throat as Krytfield put the stopper back into the decanter. “Well I’m afraid we don’t normally keep beer on hand at the castle.”

“I hope you don’t think I was complaining, this is just fine.” Lister tipped the glass towards his host graciously.

“I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your hospitality.”

Krytfield set his tray down at a small table and pulled a perfume atomizer with a squeeze bulb from his jacket pocket. He began to lightly spritz the air around Lister. Lister slid down into the cushions of the sofa, as he was enrobed in a cloud of lavender. He wished that the sofa would somehow absorb him and save him from the embarrassment.

“That port is a very good year, by the way.” The Count spoke matter-of-factly, clearly attempting to divert attention from the butler’s mission to deodorize his guest.

“Is it?” Lister wrinkled up his nose as Krytfield spritzed him behind the ears.

“Yes. Some of the finest wines in the world can be found in our wine cellar. The Rimmers have been connoisseurs of wine for centuries.”

“Mmm…” Lister replied weakly as Krytfield sniffed at the air before giving one last spritz of perfume.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the butler asked as he pocketed the atomizer and bowed towards the Count.

“Nothing else for now, Krytfield. Please shut the door on your way out.” Lister gave a weak wave as the butler marched his way through the door, closing it behind him.

Lister sipped at his port as the Count continued to stare at him. _Would you just say something? Clearly he’s not going to be the one to break the ice, so why don’t you just say something?_

“This is quite a place you’ve got here, Count.”

“The castle?” The Count screwed up his face as if he’d just gotten another whiff of garlic. “I think it’s a dank, impractical, depressing, gaudy, over-sized eyesore. But I suppose if you’re seeing it for the first time it’s somewhat impressive.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s quite all right,” the Count gave a casual wave of his hand as he leaned back into the sofa. “But I don’t want to talk about this stuffy old home of mine. We have plenty of other things to talk about.”

“Of course, I’m sure you’re curious to hear all the details about the estate you’re purchasing. Well if you’d just let me go back to my room, I can get my briefcase with all the documents.”

“Absolutely not,” the Count said as he shook his head. “You’ve had a long journey and I’m sure the last thing you want to do right now is to talk business. I’d really just like to learn a bit more about you, Mr Lister.”

Lister paused in surprise, his glass of port pressed to his lips. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” As the Count smiled at him, Lister suddenly felt light-headed. _This port must be really strong. Or maybe I’m just tired? It has been a long day._

“What would you like to know?”

“Start at the beginning, tell me everything about yourself.” The Count leaned forward, his fingers pressed together into a steeple, his chin resting against them.

“I’m not sure where to start,” Lister said as he rolled his glass between his fingers. “I was born in Liverpool. Both of my parents died when I was just a boy, but then my grandmother raised me until I was thirteen.”

“That must have been very difficult for you, losing your parents so young.”

“It was, but my grandmother was a great old lady. Very no-nonsense sort, but very loving too. I owe a lot to her.”

“She must have been very fond of you.”

“We were both fond of one another. When she died, I was still very young. I had no other family, but Mr Kochanski was our neighbor back when I lived in Liverpool with my parents. He had always said that I was a good lad, and he offered me a home and an apprenticeship with his firm. He was a very kind man, I was very fortunate.” Lister grew solemn as he sipped at his port. “It was quite a loss to his family, and everyone in the firm when he died.”

“I do sympathize. You certainly have suffered a lot of loss in your short life.” The Count’s eyes looked sorrowful as they gazed at Lister.

“I suppose I have.” Lister’s brow furrowed as he finished the rest of his port. “Sorry, it was just a few months ago that we lost him. The loss is still quite keen.”

“I understand completely. You’ve no need to apologize. Would you like some more port?”

Normally Lister wasn’t one for drinking wine, but the foreign setting, combined with the oddly probing questions that the Count was asking, made him eager to settle his nerves. “Yes, thank you.” Lister held out his glass as the Count poured. The Count’s hands appeared even more pale against the deep red of the port as it sloshed from the decanter. The Count never dropped his gaze from Lister’s face, even as he finished pouring and placed the wine back on the tray.

Feeling slightly emboldened from the liquid courage in his gullet, Lister decided to ask the Count a question that had been nagging him since the man had first descended the stairs. “Sir, I hate to pry, but I’ve noticed that you haven’t a trace of a Romanian accent. I’m just wondering how a Count in Transylvania came to sound like a British aristocrat. Did you study abroad?”

An odd look flashed across the Count’s face as he looked back at Lister; his lips twitched in a way that could have been communicating amusement, or annoyance. “My _father_ …” The Count said the word with an inflection usually reserved for venereal diseases or gut illnesses. “...had a bit of an obsession with the British monarchy. We were given the finest English nannies that his money could buy.”

“Ah,” Lister cleared his throat delicately as he realized he’d stumbled on a sensitive subject. “You didn't spend much time with your parents then, I take it?”

“There’s really not much to be said about my childhood, Mr Lister. Yours, on the other hand, sounds as if it was far more intriguing.” Lister took a hearty slug from his glass, grateful that the subject had been swiftly changed as the Count continued his line of inquiry. “So you say you grew up in Liverpool. What was that like?”

Lister chuckled as his brain suddenly began to flood with memories, “Are you sure you really want to hear about it? I’m afraid it’s not terribly interesting.”

“I’m sure that I’ll find it very interesting. And please, don’t spare any details. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Well, I didn’t spend my whole childhood in Liverpool. My grandmother lived in the country, so I spent some time there as well after I lost my parents.”

The levels of port in the decanter dropped significantly as the hours flew by. As Lister dredged through his childhood memories, narrating them to the rapt Count, he found himself growing more at ease. The Count was an excellent listener. He gave Lister his utmost attention, and chuckled with laughter at all the right moments. Lister was just finishing the story about the time he and some of his friends had gone out to pick blackberries, but wound up stealing a farmer’s horse and wagon instead, when the clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. _Two in the morning? Where’d the time go?_

“I’m sorry,” The Count apologized as he turned to look at the clock. “I’ve kept you up far too late. You must be exhausted.”

Suddenly the night seemed to catch up with him, and Lister wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa and go right to sleep. “Maybe you’re right, it has been a long day.” He set his empty glass down on the tray and was stunned to see he’d nearly emptied the decanter all on his own. As he pulled himself to his feet, he stumbled a bit and the Count caught him by his elbow. Lister stifled a gasp as the Count’s slender fingers held him firmly.

“Why don’t you let me help you? You can tell me the rest of that story on the way to your room.”

Lister was inwardly cursing himself as he realized how cloudy his thoughts were. _Just brilliant. Your first meeting with your first big client, and you go and get tipsy._ As the Count guided him through the halls, Lister found himself relying more on his host to keep him upright. The Count seemed completely unperturbed by the extra weight as they walked up the wide stone staircase. _He must be built like a brick chicken house,_ Lister thought as the Count wrapped his arm more tightly around him. Lister did his best to continue the story of his criminal past as they walked through the corridors to his room.

“And he never found out it was you?”

“Never. To this very day he still thinks I was completely innocent.” Lister grinned as the Count laughed.

“With a face like that, who could blame him?” The Count cleared his throat as he pushed open the heavy door to Lister’s room. “But you need your rest. Goodnight, Mr Lister. It’s been a rare pleasure.”

“Will I see you in the morning for breakfast?” Lister felt self-conscious as soon as the words left his lips. Was he sounding too eager?

“Unfortunately I have some… business I need to take care of in the morning. But I shall see you in the evening.”

Lister wanted to ask if the Count would be joining him for dinner, but he bit his tongue. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was so anxious to see the Count again. “Well… Thank you again for all your hospitality, Count Rimmer. It has been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” the Count bowed and Lister felt a flush creep up from his neck. He hoped the Count wouldn’t notice it in the dimly lit hall. “Goodnight, Mr Lister.”

“Yes. Goodnight, sir.” The Count turned on his heel, his cape swirling behind him dramatically. Lister watched him until he disappeared into the blackness at the end of the hall. He stepped through the heavy door and closed it behind him with a sigh. Exhaustion suddenly slammed into him like a sucker punch. He just managed to remove his jacket, tie and shoes before he fell to the bed with a heavy plop. Without even bothering to get under the covers Lister fell into a deep sleep, interrupted only by restless dreams where long, pale fingers beckoned him through darkened hallways.


	4. Chapter 4

Lister's peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by what sounded to his sleepy brain like rapidly approaching thunder. He groaned and rubbed his eyes before reluctantly peering through his fingers and flinching as a ray of bleak March sun stabbed him between the eyes. 

Just as he realised that the "thunder" was actually an increasingly impatient hammering at his bedroom door, it swung open, revealing Bald Curtains. 

He silently cursed himself for forgetting to lock it as the Skutter wheeled in the same boiler device as he had the previous evening. Only now it was followed by an attached trolley which was groaning with toiletries. 

Lister sat up, wincing at the slight headache he had from last night's unaccustomed port consumption. He flushed as he realised that he had fallen asleep on top of the covers, almost fully dressed. His shoeless feet were cold and the collar of his best shirt was askew.

Without further ado, Bald Curtains refilled the bath, gestured meaningfully between the steaming water and the laden trolley, then stomped back out into the corridor without troubling to close the door behind him. 

"Cheek," Lister muttered. 

He dragged his legs over the edge of the bed and walked gingerly to the door. He shut and locked it, rattling it firmly to relieve his feelings. As his head gave another throb, he allowed himself a gesture at the door which he hadn't indulged in for several years. 

 

 

He dipped his facecloth into the water, wrung it out and held it against his forehead before running it over his face. The scents soothed him a little as he sorted through the various bottles and jars, sniffing curiously at several. His selection was labelled eucalyptus and smelt pleasantly calming. 

He began to feel better as he poured liberal amounts of the oil into the bathtub. He wasn't in the habit of drenching himself in bath salts like this, but the memory of the Count's reaction to him last night was more than enough of an incentive. 

Determined not to embarrass himself again, he piled all of yesterday's clothes at the end of his bed, hoping whoever did the washing here would take the hint, then proceeded to take the most thorough bath of his life. 

The sound of a gong echoed through the ancient walls as he towelled himself off. It took him a startled moment to realise that it was presumably a summons to breakfast. 

Breakfast? The sun was too high for that. 

He dug out his pocket watch. Just after noon? Thank smeg the Count wasn't waiting for him. 

_But if I do run into him, at least I'm smelling good _, he thought smugly as he opened the door of his room, clad in fresh clothes, the taste of peppermint on his tongue and his skin positively glowing.__

____

____

He frowned. Something about that thought didn't sound quite right. 

Too hungry to waste any more time, he set off in the general direction of the dining room, praying his memory of last night's expedition would hold up. 

 

 

Breakfast - or early lunch, depending on how you looked at it - consisted of thick slices of crusty bread with generous quantities of creamy butter and a selection of cold cuts of meat, plus jam and a strong-smelling cheese. He cautiously plumped for the jam, mindful of the possibility that the meat might contain spices. Given the Count's antipathy to garlic it seemed unlikely that it would be served to the Castle's guests, but who knew? 

He washed down his meal with several cups of strong coffee. As his hunger subsided he began to wonder why Bald Curtains was the only person he had seen so far today. Where was Krytfield? Maybe helping the Count with his mysterious "business". 

Once full, he managed precisely seven minutes of polite sitting before setting off to explore. 

 

 

The Castle proved to be a veritable warren of stone and wood-panelled corridors, gradually increasing in grandeur as Lister worked his way upwards. He found a music room full of dust-covered instruments. Unable to resist running his fingers over the strings of a harp, he coughed as the resulting cloud choked him. 

He opened the lid of the grand piano and played a few chords. The acoustics of the room were excellent. He grabbed a music book and tried his hand at a Wagner tune which resonated satisfyingly off the walls and domed ceiling. 

Having pounded the keys to his heart's content, he wandered onwards and came upon a sizable library. Its shelves were high and stuffed to the rafters with formidable looking books. 

He scanned a few titles and authors.  Kristof Von Lee, Belle La Lugosi, Ingrid Pitovski... 

_Musings On The Probability Of Life After Death _\- Dr Ludwig Von Krankheit. The hefty tome was written in dry academic language ill-suited to its sensational subject, but its engravings were fairly gory and kept Lister's attention as he skimmed the volume.__

____

____

His gaze fell on a series of books.  Dr Von Krankheit seemed to have made quite a career out of supernatural subjects.   Ghosts, zombies, werewolves, demons...

_The Vampyre And His Habits _fell open in the middle, its spine worn from obvious frequent use.  What he had thought to be an oversized bookmark was in fact a separate, pocket-sized book advising the reader how to recognise a vampire.__

____

____

He flicked to a page entitled “The Mirror Test”.  The text acknowledged that such things as pallor and dislike of garlic were insufficient evidence in themselves.   _“However, the first cast-iron proof of vampyrism as opposed to mere eccentricity is the absence of a reflection.  A vampyre never appears in mirrors or any other reflective surface.  All known sources are unanimous on this.” ___

____

____

Before he knew where he was, he had been there a few hours. He finally stood up, stretching, and went to have a closer look at the fireplace. Over it was something he had been noticing around the castle at a distance since his arrival, but this was the first time he had been able to have a good look in natural light. 

The Rimmer family crest. 

It was the oddest one he had ever seen. Some sort of piglike animal with an armoured coat, wearing a Napoleon hat. And the motto - _Non Sum Pisces _.__

____

____

Lister gaped, double checking his memories of his Latin lessons. There was no question; it definitely meant that. "I am not a fish." 

His snorts of laughter echoed far down the corridor. 

 

 

He wound his way onwards through the seemingly infinite castle until he emerged towards the top and found himself looking directly down on a cavernous ballroom. It was of similar dimensions to the half-ruined entrance hall, and endowed with an equally grand staircase. A highly polished, ornately carved banister stretched before him, its smooth curves uninterrupted by posts and ending in an elegant spiral. 

Lister looked around, checking. Nobody. 

He struggled with his impulses for a moment before throwing caution to the wind. Straddling the banister, he slid down, whooping as his momentum picked up speed. He whooshed around the final corner and grabbed at the end, but it wasn't enough to stop him landing in a slightly winded, panting heap. 

Picking himself up, he turned round and looked straight into the reproachful gaze of Bald Curtains. "Aargh!! Er...." 

Unable to think what to say, he opted to brazen it out. He strolled to the entrance of the ballroom, whistling, and turned the corner outside. Still scarlet, he watched the Skutter head off in one direction and very deliberately chose the opposite one. 

 

 

The delicious smell of baking drew him like a magnet to the kitchens. A succession of rooms storing food and drink gave way to the scullery which in its turn led into the main cooking area. Several substantial wood-burning ovens lined one wall; another was dominated by a fireplace with the glowing embers of a recent fire, surrounded by pots, pans and cauldrons. 

A long table with several chairs bore the detritus of a recent meal. Lister recognised a half-finished loaf of the same crusty bread from earlier and felt a pang of hunger. He cut a sliver off the open end, dropped it onto a used plate, then cut himself a fresh slice, topping it with butter and cheese. 

The sound of a voice in the distance sent him scrambling back into the scullery in the opposite direction. Guest or not, he really didn't want to be caught red-handed with crumbs all over him. 

"An eight hour round trip! All I can say is, I hope the young man appreciates this." 

Who could Krytfield be grumbling about, if not him? 

He risked a glance around the corner and saw Blond Toupee rolling barrels through the kitchen doorway. 

"All the way to Lebkuchen for the finest quality we could find. This is most unlike His Excellency." 

He devoured his sandwich as he took a leisurely, roundabout route back to his room, wondering how he could have made such an impression on the Count in such a short space of time.  Maybe he hadn't entertained for a long while? 

 

 

By the time he had freshened up and cautiously brushed his teeth again, the sun was setting majestically over the distant peaks. For lack of anything better to do whilst he awaited the gong, he watched as it sank gradually out of sight in a melange of rose-pink and orange. It put him in mind of a picture he had drawn as a small child when his only knowledge of mountains had come from one of his few books. Who could have guessed that one day, he would have ended up here? 

With a sudden sinking feeling, he recalled the actual reason for his presence. He needed not to get carried away with this luxury. This was the first big international deal he had handled and if not for the death of his mentor, he probably wouldn't be here. Certainly not by himself. 

Once the gong had sounded, he looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. Briefcase in hand, he opened his door and blinked. The corridor outside was lit twice as brightly as it had been last night. 

He had no need to worry about forgetting the way to the dining room this time. Lamps and candelabras lined the entire route. 

 

 

There was a pint of beer waiting at the table. He sipped it curiously. _Mmmm _.__

____

____

"Excellent beer," he greeted Krytfield, putting as much as enthusiasm as he could into his voice and flashing his most charming grin. 

The butler beamed. "Your satisfaction is my duty, sir." 

Lister worked his way appreciatively through a vegetable soup mildly spiced with paprika, followed by a hearty pork stew. The food was so delicious he forgot to keep an eye out for the Count. 

He was halfway through a slice of one of the best cakes he had ever tasted when the sudden announcement "His Excellency!" made him cough. He took a hasty gulp of beer and got to his feet as the Count made a graceful entrance. 

"Good evening, Mr Lister. I trust your meal is to your liking?" 

"Good evening, Your Excellency. It's lovely, thank you." 

"Please, don't let me interrupt." The Count approached the table and seated himself opposite Lister. 

"You're ... you're sure?" At the Count's dismissive wave, Lister turned back to his dessert, savouring each chocolate and almond flavoured mouthful.  As he licked his fork clean, he caught the Count's gaze, which was fixed on him. 

Blushing, he laid down his fork and covered his embarrassment with another sip of beer. He must seem like an uncultured boor to this elegant aristocrat. 

 

 

"No, no. Leave that here. Krytfield will fetch it if necessary." 

Somewhat surprised, Lister left his briefcase on his chair. 

As they retired to the sitting room, he noticed that the Count was wearing a subtly different cape, this time with a violet lining. He momentarily envied that tall, slender frame which could carry off such a sartorial flourish. 

Krytfield brought him another beer. He made a point of thanking him, earning a discreet smile as the butler retreated. 

At the Count's urging, he launched into another tale from his misspent early youth, relaxing quickly as his beer intake increased. He was far more used to it than port and felt confident in his ability not to get too drunk this time. 

 

 

"So Gran sent me back to the farm in the morning, pulling the goat in our little wagon and with the newborn kid tucked under my arm. I'd been up all night and was still in yesterday's stained and bloodied clothes. Mr McCreary took one look at me and burst out laughing. He let me go without a word. Every time he saw me after that he just laughed and I cringed." 

"I can't believe you did that!" The Count threw his head back and laughed.

********

********

"What can I say. I was a naughty kid." Lister sipped his beer. "And you?" 

The Count sobered up immediately. "I'm sorry?" 

"I've told you a lot about me. Don't I get to ask a few questions?" 

"Well ... of course..." The Count's slim fingers twisted together. 

"I don't want to pry," Lister added hastily. "I was just wondering about your family." 

"That's a natural thing to wonder about, I suppose," the Count replied, his tone cautious. "But I'm afraid it's not a subject I care to talk about much." 

At Lister's downcast expression, he softened. "But it would be rude of me not to satisfy your curiosity a little. The truth is, I shouldn't really be the Count." 

"Get out- I beg your pardon?" 

"I was the youngest of four brothers, and never allowed to forget it. Nothing I did was ever good enough for any of my family, least of all my parents. Ironic that I'm the one here now, really." 

"So..." Lister faltered. He couldn't just ask something like that. 

"My brothers - John, Frank and Howard - all went into the Army, as is our family tradition. They were killed in battle." 

"I'm so sorry." 

"Don't be. They went out of their way to make my life miserable when we were children. And afterwards." 

"I..." 

"This is why I don't care to talk about it. People expect grief." 

"And ... your parents?" Lister fumbled at a conversational straw. 

"Both long gone. And if they could see their sissy of a youngest son sitting here as the Count, well..." The Count smiled in a way which was more like a grimace. 

"I apologise. I shouldn't have asked. Would you mind if I had a cigarette?" At the Count's headshake, Lister thankfully brought out his engraved silver case and lit up. Krytfield, who had been drifting in and out at regular intervals, chose that moment to bring him a fresh pint. 

They settled back into anecdotes from Lister's boyhood. The hours flew by. 

 

 

Sometime during Lister's seventh pint his curiosity overtook his professionalism. He gestured towards the crest over the mantelpiece. 

"So - 'I am not a fish'? Does that have some sort of deeper meaning?" 

The Count looked amused. "I couldn't tell you, but I very much doubt it. By the time he designed that, my great-great - oh, however many greats - grandfather was as mad as a hatter." 

Lister chuckled. "And what's that animal? Some kind of pig?" 

"It's an armadillo. The man was completely doolally." They shared a hearty laugh. 

Lister reached towards the small table he had placed his cigarette case on for possibly the tenth or fifteenth time; he had long ago lost count. As his hand closed around it he made the mistake of looking back at the Count. The intensity of that hazel gaze was a sufficient distraction to cause it to slip through his fingers and land soundlessly on the thick carpet.

"Allow me." The Count leant forward and picked it up. A slightly flushed Lister watched his fingers trace the patterns in the silver. 

"What's this dedication here? 'Congratulations, K.' A gift from your mentor when you finished your final law exams?" 

"Not quite. It was a graduation gift, but it's from my fiancée." 

"Excuse me?" 

"My fiancée. Mr Kochanski's daughter, Kristine." 

Pleasantly merry though he was, Lister was instantly aware of the change in the Count's demeanour as his case was returned. "I see. How charming." 

An awkward pause ensued. The Count looked towards the nearest window and flinched slightly. "I fear I have kept you up far too late once more." 

"Not at-" Lister gasped. His watch said five past five. In the morning? How was that possible? 

The Count rose, unease radiating off him. "I bid you goodnight, sir. Krytfield, escort our guest back to his room, please." He swept from the room in a swirl of purple before the butler had a chance to reply.


	5. Chapter 5

Lister couldn’t help but feel guilty as Krytfield led him through the silent corridors that were just beginning to brighten with morning light. “Sorry we’ve been keeping you up to all hours these last couple of nights.”

“Oh it’s no trouble at all, sir.” The butler replied as he clapped along the corridor briskly. “I don’t require very much sleep.”

“You’re a tougher man than I, Krytfield.” Lister groaned as he could feel the seven pints in his stomach sloshing with every step. “I feel like I could sleep all day,” he said as he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“Well you get some rest, sir.” Krytfield opened Lister’s door as they reached his quarters. “I’ll have one of the Skutters leave a late breakfast at your door so you won’t have to worry about coming down to the dining hall in time.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Krytfield. Can I ask you something though?”

“Yes, sir?” Krytfield asked as he opened Lister’s door for him.

“Why do you call them ‘the Skutters’? Haven’t they got names?”

“Well, Skutter is their surname, sir. They came to the castle after they responded to an advertisement I placed in a newspaper. They were listed on their letters of recommendation as: A. Skutter, and B. Skutter. Since they’re mute and not particularly interested in communicating in other ways, we had no idea who was who. We just find it easier to refer to them as the Skutters.”

Lister laughed and clapped Krytfield on the shoulder amiably as the butler ushered him into his room. “This is a funny old place.”

“It certainly is, Mr Lister. Goodnight, sir.” The butler let a small grin escape at Lister’s tipsy attentions before bowing and heading back down the corridor.

“Nice guy,” Lister mumbled as he closed the door behind him and started to toe off his shoes. “A bit weird, but nice.”

Lister tossed his briefcase onto the desk as he loosened his tie. His brow furrowed as the events of the last two nights blurred through his mind like a stack of cards being shuffled. The oddly intense Count both fascinated and confused him. He thought back to the Count’s change in demeanor after his fiancée was mentioned, and tried to make sense of it. _Did I offend him for some reason? Maybe it’s considered rude to speak of such things in Romania?_ Although the Count hadn’t been bothered by the story of the pregnant goat, or the stolen wagon. It seemed doubtful that a little mention of his fiancée could have caused offense. _Maybe he’s just getting sick of me rambling on to him so much? Two nights I’ve been here, and I still haven’t talked any business with the man. He probably thinks I’m being so unprofessional._

Lister wormed his way out of his suit and felt moderately proud of himself for having the presence of mind to actually make it into a nightshirt before climbing into bed. _Tomorrow I’ll make sure to get some business taken care of. I can’t let Mr. Hollister down, or Krissie. Krissie!_ Lister slapped himself in the forehead as he realized that it had been well over a week since he’d written to his fiancée. _I’d better write to her first thing so she knows I’ve arrived here safely. Well, maybe not first thing. After breakfast._ He nodded to himself as he blew out the candle on his bedside table.

 

* * *

 

Lister awoke with a groan the next morning. A few cracks of light were streaming through the gaps at the sides of his curtains, but he had no idea how late in the day it might be. He reached out a hand and fumbled at the bedside table for his pocket watch.

“Smeg,” he muttered as he saw that it was half past one in the afternoon. He closed the watch with a snap and fell back into his pillow with a soft thump. “I’ve got to stop it with these long nights.” Lister had been known to knock back a dozen pints without a second thought in his university days, but it had been ages since he’d drunk so heavily and his body was starting to disagree with his recent life choices.

In spite of the pain in his head, Lister found that he was enjoying his first business trip. The big elaborate castle, the eccentric butler and servants, the mysterious Count and his strange preoccupation with Lister’s childhood; it was all like something out of a fairy tale. For a moment the Count’s face flashed in Lister’s mind: how his eyes had lit up as Lister told him the ridiculous stories from his childhood. Lister smiled at the memory, until he remembered how the Count’s face had fallen at the end of the night. Lister pressed his lips together in a grimace, as he wondered why the change in the Count’s mood was bothering him so much. _It’s just a job_ , he reminded himself. _I’m just here to represent the firm, what do I care if the Count’s pleased with me or not? Besides, he was probably just tired. Get a grip on yourself, David Lister._

Lister suddenly became aware of a worrying rumbling sound, and for a moment he thought the Skutters might be returning and forcing him to have another scent-heavy bath. He was relieved to realize that it was just his stomach, complaining that he hadn’t eaten in hours. That combined with a painful feeling of fullness in his bladder made him reluctantly slide to the floor. Lister grit his teeth at the chilliness of the stones underneath his feet. He pushed open the curtains to let in some more light before wincing his way to the toilet.

Afterward, feeling a great deal more relaxed, he cautiously opened the front door a crack and peered through. Lister let out a grateful sigh as he saw that Krytfield had been true to his word. Waiting in the hall was an ornate trolley on wheels, with a tray covered in a large silver lid; underneath it on a separate shelf was a neatly folded pile of Lister’s clothing, clean and pressed. Lister could have kissed the butler. After looking up and down the corridors to be sure neither of the Skutters were lurking about to see him in his nightshirt, Lister pushed the trolley into his room and quickly shut the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Several minutes later, Lister sat contentedly with one foot propped up on the small writing desk, a fountain pen in one hand, and a thick slice of bread spread liberally with butter and jam in the other. He took a large bite as he contemplated what he should write to his fiancée. _Probably shouldn’t tell her I’ve been staying up to all hours of the night with the Count, drinking and chatting like we’re old school pals. Mr. Hollister would just LOVE to hear that from her._ Lister shook his head as he began to scribble out his letter.

_Dear Krissie,_

_I’ve arrived safely at Castle Rimmer. It’s an interesting place, with some interesting characters. I feel like you might not believe me if I told you of some of the things I’ve encountered since I came here. Did you know that there are herds of cats in the forests around here? Also apart from the butler, there are only two other servants who don’t speak a word, and are identical twins except one of them wears the most unconvincing toupee I’ve ever seen. Like I said it’s an interesting place._

_I don’t imagine that I’ll be here for more than a couple of days. It shouldn’t take long for the Count to go through all of his paperwork and sign off on the deal. I expect that by the time you receive this letter, I’ll already be on my way home. I’ll make sure to write to you again once I’m on my way back, probably from Bucharest before I get on the train._

Lister paused before he finished, mulling over what would be the best way to end his letter. He’d run into this same problem every time he’d written to Kristine. What was the right thing to say when you ended a letter to your fiancée? ‘Respectfully yours’? That seemed too official. ‘Best regards’? Too formal. ‘All my love’? Lister squirmed as he contemplated that phrase. He cared about Kristine a great deal, but for some reason he just wasn’t comfortable with such a declaration, not in a letter anyway. After chewing on his lip for several seconds, he finally decided to just write:

 _Sincerely,  
_ _David_

Lister paused to lick the crumbs and butter from his fingers before composing a particularly brief letter to Mr Hollister. Lister’s conscience gave a guilty pang as he omitted any mention of the fact that he’d not yet managed to conduct any actual business on this business trip. As he waited for the ink to dry, he slathered another slice of bread with butter and jam and poured himself a second cup of strong coffee. After he felt pleasantly stuffed and alert, he sealed up his letters into envelopes and headed to the bathroom to freshen up before he went downstairs.

 

* * *

  

 _Damn it, I could have sworn that the kitchens were down this hall._ Lister grumbled as he came to the end of another corridor filled with locked doors. He backtracked and turned right down another hallway which ended at a heavy wooden door with a sturdy iron handle. He turned it, and was surprised to find it unlocked. It swung open on well-oiled hinges and he blinked as the corridor was flooded with daylight.

Lister stepped out into the sunshine and was amused to find himself in a far corner of the same courtyard that he’d arrived in two days prior. With the midday sun spilling across the cobblestones, the atmosphere was much less ominous than when he’d been unceremoniously dropped off in the middle of the night. Lister chuckled a bit at his past nervousness as he closed the door behind him and looked around. To his left and right were the massive stone gate and the main entrance to the castle. Straight across from him was the carriage house, and stables. Feeling curious, Lister walked across the uneven cobbles, and over to the carriage house.

The windows were covered with a thick layer of grime. Lister pulled a horribly stained handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers, cleared a small patch and peered through it. Through the faint light that filtered through the grimy windows, Lister could see three coaches. Two were covered in what looked like at least a couple of decades worth of dust; the third coach was the one that he had arrived in two days before. Lister was surprised that two of the coaches had been allowed to fall into such disrepair, but he supposed that the Count probably wouldn’t have need of more than one coach, since it was just him and his servants at the castle.

The sound of gentle whinnying lured him over to the adjacent stables. He peered through the open door and saw several rows of stalls. In the stall nearest to him was a handsome chestnut horse. Blond Toupee was standing with his back to Lister, gently brushing out the horse’s mane. Lister was about to call out a greeting, but suddenly the Skutter pulled the curly toupee from his head, and sat it between the horse’s ears. Lister clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as the Skutter, now bald as his twin, pulled a hand mirror from his apron and held it in front of the horse so it could look at its reflection. Unable to hold back his laughter anymore, Lister quickly ran from the courtyard, retreating back to the door he came through.

After having a hearty guffaw against the closed door, Lister wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to orient himself and find his way back to the kitchens. He walked back down the corridor muttering, “Next time I should bring a pen and some paper and draw a map.” He peeked his head through an open stone doorway and was relieved to see the familiar interior of the scullery and kitchens. Lister looked around for Krytfield, but the spiky-haired butler was nowhere to be seen.

A bowl of brightly colored fruit perched on a windowsill caught Lister’s eye and he quickly looked left and right before he scurried forward and pinched a bright red apple from the top. He polished it on his suit coat before taking a hearty bite. As he chewed, he peered out the window and noticed that there was a good-sized garden on the grounds outside the kitchen. Fruit trees, tomato plants, cucumber shoots, and some other vegetables that Lister couldn’t identify were laid out in neat rows. Off in a corner, Lister noticed Krytfield crouched down in a bed of herbs. He took another large bite of his apple and headed out through the kitchen's creaky wooden door.

“Hi, Krytfield,” Lister called out as he walked towards the garden.

“Oh hello, Mr Lister sir. I’m glad to see you out and about.” Krytfield stood up and stretched out his back. He had on a short apron, a pair of Wellington boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and gardening gloves. Lister did his best to hold back a smirk as he took in Krytfield’s ensemble.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting your work. You’ve got a lovely garden here.”

The butler’s face suddenly split into a wide grin. “Isn’t it? I hate to toot my own horn, but I’m actually quite proud of it. You should have seen the size of the peppers that I grew last year, sir. And my goodness were they tasty! Just you wait, come summer my squashes will be the size of small Alsatians!”

“Imagine that,” Lister said with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself in the kitchen,” Lister waggled the bitten apple at Krytfield. “And thanks for the breakfast. After these last couple of late nights that was just what I needed.”

“Not at all, sir. After all, I am here to serve.” The butler turned back to his gardening, and Lister took another bite of his apple and chewed it thoughtfully.

“So…” Lister swallowed and wiped the juice from his chin before he continued. “Is the Count around today?” Lister was surprised to find that he felt a bit bashful asking Krytfield about the Count.

The butler tipped his head up at Lister. His eyes blinked rapidly as he quickly answered, “His lordship had some business to attend to. I’m sure he’ll be back later this evening. Probably some time after dinner.”

Lister smirked as he thought about the three coaches, sitting unused in the carriage house. It sounded as if the butler had memorized a script, but failed his acting classes. “What a shame. Seems odd that he’s only ever around in the evenings and never has dinner.”

Krytfield reddened visibly under his cream colored sun hat. “The Count is a very busy man, Mr Lister.” He began to dig at the dirt with renewed vigor.

“I’m sure he is,” Lister thought suddenly about Doamnă Bunică and how superstitious she had been about the Count. _It’s no wonder,_ Lister thought. _This certainly is a funny old place._ Lister decided to give the poor butler a break from his inquisition and pulled the letters from his jacket pocket. “Would it be possible for you to put these in the post for me?”

Krytfield pulled off one of his gardening gloves and took the letters from Lister. “Certainly, sir. Unfortunately the post only comes by once a week so it will be a few days before it’s able to be sent out.”

 _Crap,_ Lister thought. He should have realized that the post wouldn’t come up the long winding trail to the old castle every single day. Hopefully Krissie wouldn’t be too worried, waiting to hear from him. “That’ll be fine, Krytfield. And thanks.”

“Not at all, sir.” Krytfield said as he carefully slid the envelopes into one of his apron pockets. “After all…”

“You’re here to serve.” Lister grinned down at the butler who looked bemused under his sun hat.

“Quite right, sir.” Krytfield slipped his hand back into his gardening glove. “If you’ll excuse me though, sir. Dinner is in a few hours, and this spinach isn’t going to pick itself.”

“Sure thing, I’ll leave you to it.” Lister resisted the urge to pat the butler on his shoulder as he turned and headed back towards the kitchens. Once he reached the door, he thought better of heading immediately back into the gloomy, if beautiful, castle interior and instead decided to take a walk and explore some of the castle grounds.

Lister continued to munch on his apple as he meandered through the few rows of trees that made up the tiny orchard. Although there was only the barest hint of buds forming at the tips of the branches, Lister was still able to recognize the various fruit trees from his years of living in the country with his grandmother. Come late summer the orchard would be bursting with plums, pears, peaches and apples.

Lister gazed up at the faceted sunshine as it filtered through the twigs and branches and down onto his head. As he passed underneath the gnarled limbs, he had a sudden impulse to scramble up one of the nearest trees, like he had done when he was still in short trousers. He glanced up at the castle walls where numerous windows gazed down at him like the eyes of a spider. He wondered if the Count might be up in his quarters, looking down at him right now. He imagined the Count’s hazel eyes, staring down at him intently from one of the castle windows. Lister’s cheeks reddened as he thought better of climbing the trees.

 _I wonder,_ Lister thought as he tossed his apple core into some underbrush and began to walk around the perimeter of the castle. _Where are the Count’s quarters? Such a big place, he could be anywhere._ He craned his head back and let his eyes crawl over the massive stone facade of the castle. It looked even more impressive when viewed this low to the ground. The turrets and towers on the upper stories seemed to pierce the clouds as they stretched into the sky.

As Lister turned around the corner the ground began to slope more steeply downwards. This side of the castle was slightly more formal looking than the area outside the kitchens and was studded everywhere with decorative hedges and slender stone pathways. Several yards away, the well-manicured grounds gave way to the vast forests that stretched for miles across the Carpathian mountains. Lister made his way through the hedges and stopped at the stone wall that marked the edge of the grounds. He lit a cigarette as he stared at the forest spread out before him. It was so thick and heavy with evergreens that he could only see a few yards before everything faded into secretive blackness. For a moment he thought he heard the yowling of a cat, but he shook his head and decided that it must just be his imagination.

Lister turned and started a slow walk back to the castle, puffing thin wisps of smoke behind him as he went. He noticed a heavy wooden door set in the side of the castle wall and tested out the knob. He was surprised to find that it too was unlocked and swung open easily. _I wonder if the Count’s ordered the doors to be left open during the day, for my sake?_ He stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt end into a potted plant before stepping inside.

Lister crossed an ornate hallway decorated with thick Persian carpets and wood paneling, and found himself in an interior courtyard, even more lavish and beautifully decorated than the exterior grounds. There were winding paths of intricate mosaics in vivid shades of blue and yellow, several cheerfully babbling fountains, and rows of flowering trees and shrubs. Lister bent to smell a fragrant bush of white flowers and marveled at the fact that Krytfield and the two Skutters managed to take such good care of the enormous estate on their own.

A wrought iron, spiral staircase caught Lister’s eye and he climbed it, letting his fingers trace along the fine details of the hand rail. It ended at a balcony with an elaborate wooden door, filled with windows of stained glass. Curious, he turned the knob and stepped out into a room he had never seen before. It was a large hall with a high ceiling. The floor was paneled in polished dark wood with inlays of mother of pearl. All along the wall adjacent to the courtyard were large windows that made the room as bright as day. They illuminated rows of paintings that were hung from end to end on the opposite wall.

Lister crossed the hall to get a better look at a painting in a heavy gilded frame that was nearly as wide as the painting itself. Lister squinted up at the portrait’s fierce looking subject; he had a pointed mustache and was wearing a war helmet. “Count Vasile Rimmerescu III,” Lister read on a small plaque underneath the painting. “Rimmerescu?” He clasped his hands behind his back as he followed the line of paintings down the hall, reading names as he went. Bogdan Rimmerescu, Dragos Rimmerescu II, Constanta Rimmerescu, Radu Rimmerescu, Marius Rimmerescu III. One particularly sinister looking character with a horribly war-torn landscape in the background was Zoltan Rimmerescu II. _These must be all of the Count’s ancestors,_ Lister thought as he noticed that Zoltan’s eyes were painted the exact same shade of hazel as the Count’s. Lister continued to wander, intrigued as the Rimmerescus in the paintings began to shift into more modern clothing and settings.

As Lister made his way to the far corner of the hall, there was suddenly a change to the plaques. He stopped in front of a painting of an older man in a navy military dress uniform, covered over with sashes and braids of gold. He had a head of thinning grey hair and a sour frown on his face. His plaque read: Count Haralamb Rimmer. “Haralamb?” Lister snorted as he read the name again. “If he was going to change any name, why didn’t he change THAT one?” Next to Haralamb was a portrait of a stern looking woman with her hair piled on her head in a lavish braid. “Countess Elizabeth Rimmer. She must’ve been Haralamb’s wife.” Haralamb and his wife’s painting was set up fairly high on the wall, and underneath were portraits of three more men in matching military uniforms. “John Rimmer, Frank Rimmer, and Howard Rimmer,” Lister read aloud from their plaques. All three were young and handsome with hair in various shades of brown. There was a strong resemblance between all of them, but most similar were their decidedly snooty expressions. Lister stared hard at the portrait of Frank. If he hadn’t known that the Count's given name was Arnold from the real estate contracts, he’d have assumed it was his portrait. The only discernable difference was this man appeared to be a bit older, and had a pencil-thin mustache. The names sounded familiar to Lister. These must be the brothers that the Count had mentioned the night before. But where was the Count’s own portrait?

Lister looked around and spied a very nondescript painting tucked as far into the corner as it would go. There were no candelabras near it, so the painting sat by itself in shadow. As he walked over to get a closer look, the Count’s features became clear. It was painted roughly, with thick, heavy strokes of a palate knife, but the likeness was unmistakable. His expression was as haughty as those of his brothers, but there was some sadness emanating from the eyes that were now so familiar to Lister. He looked back and forth between the portraits, puzzling over the contrast. The Count’s portrait was maybe half the size of his brothers’, and the frame was plain wood instead of lavish gold. _No wonder the Count isn’t fond of talking about his family,_ Lister thought, as he stared into the unseeing eyes of the Count’s portrait.

Lister tore his eyes away from the painting and slowly strolled his way along the gallery. He realized that the room ran around all sides of the courtyard and there were balconies on each end. He stepped out on the opposite balcony and breathed in the fresh air as he gazed down at the flowery courtyard. From his high vantage point, he realized that the mosaics in the middle of the courtyard were forming the Rimmer family crest and he laughed again at the sight of the hat-wearing armadillo.

Lister’s laughter subsided as his brain percolated with thoughts of the Count. He turned and walked down a huge marble staircase that led out of the hall of portraits. As his fingers brushed the cold marble, he wondered what it must have been like for the Count to grow up in a place like this. Especially with three older brothers whom his father obviously favored. Lister thought about his own childhood; his carefree days running around the Liverpool streets, and the nearly idyllic setting of his Gran’s home in the country. Suddenly the Count’s interest in his childhood made a lot more sense.

Lister wandered aimlessly through the halls for a while, lost in thought. Down one dark hallway was a massive grandfather clock. Lister started as he looked at the position of the black hands and realized that Krytfield would be sounding the dinner gong in less than an hour. “Oh crap,” he muttered as he turned himself around and began trying to navigate his way back to his room.

Lister was rushing through a quick shave when the dinner gong sounded. “Smeg!” He cried out as he nicked himself in his haste to finish up. He dabbed hastily at his jaw with his handkerchief to try and staunch the blood before quickly knotting his tie and rushing from the room.

Several minutes later he arrived at dinner, breathless from sprinting down the last few corridors. As he stepped through the doorway, he tried to slow down his heavy breathing. _God, I really need to cut back on the cigarettes._

“Good evening, Mr Lister sir.” Krytfield greeted him cheerfully as he pulled back his seat at the dining room table. Lister waved feebly in response as he fell into the seat.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy tonight’s dinner, sir,” Krytfield said as he used a large ladle to fill Lister’s dish. “It’s my famous Romanian fish stew.”

“I’m sure… it’s… delicious…” Lister panted as the butler set a lovely looking pint of beer in front of him. “Thanks, Krytfield.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr Lister sir. Please call me if you require anything else.” The butler smiled as he exited the dining room. Lister sighed in disappointment as he sank down into the thick cushion of the wooden dining chair. The Count was nowhere to be seen.

Lister slumped over his bowl of stew, his head propped up in his hand as he sipped at his pint moodily. The beer was fantastic, but he was in no mood to appreciate its robust flavor. _What the smeg is happening to me? Why am I getting myself in such a state over the Count? I barely know him. It’s not like he’s…_

“Buenos noches, Señor!” Lister nearly spilled his pint as a man with a bouffant hairdo glided into the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Lister tried not to stare at the strange man as he approached, but that was easier said than done. He was dark-skinned, as thin and wiry as a willow, and was wearing the loudest suit Lister had ever seen. It was a pale shade of pink, tailored like a second skin, and covered with elaborate embroidered patterns and polished stones. His trousers were fitted and stopped just below his knees, and underneath he wore silk stockings and fancy buckled shoes. He looked like a French nobleman, stepped right out of the days of the Revolution. Lister felt nearly blinded as the candlelight reflected off of him. He swung a garment bag onto the back of one of the dining room chairs, and slid gracefully into the seat next to Lister.

“Fish!” The man cried out in a thick Spanish accent, a grin as bright as the sun beaming from his face. “My favourite!” He grabbed the ladle from the silver stew pot, and began filling a bowl that he appeared to have carried down to the dining room himself.

“Erm … and who might you be, sir?”

The man pulled a shiny silver spoon from his sleeve and began eagerly slurping from his bowl. He paused for just a moment to daub daintily at his mouth with a fancy handkerchief before answering Lister. “Señor Gato,” he offered no further information and simply went back to eating his stew with relish. “Mmmm! That butler sure knows how to cook a fish!”

“Are you an associate of the Count’s?” Lister asked as he picked up his own spoon and started to dig in.

“Si, Señor! I am the Count’s personal tailor, and stylist!”

Lister gawped at the man’s gaudy suit, and nearly choked on his mouthful of stew, as he imagined the Count wearing a get-up like that. “Are you now?”

“Si, si! All of the Count’s suits are hand-made by myself. Although the Count, he lacks some … imagination as far as his fashion choices go.”

“I see what you mean,” Lister replied. _Next to a suit like that, Father Christmas would look like he lacked imagination._ “So, do you live in the castle? I was under the impression that it was just the Count, Krytfield and the two Skutters here.”

“Si, I do live in the castle some of the time, I have been… out these last few days. It was the full moon, you see.”

“Full moon?” Lister asked as he scooped up another spoonful of stew. _Señor Gato was right, Krytfield does know how to cook a damned good fish._

“Si, Señor.” He flashed Lister an enigmatic smile as he leaned in towards him. “You do not know of my affliction.”

“Affliction?” Lister’s voice rose a bit in alarm as he leaned away from Señor Gato. _Oh no. What’s he got then? Tuberculosis? Cholera?_

“You see, Señor. Once a month, when the moon is full, I turn into a creature of the night!”

Lister blinked in surprise. _Is this guy a loony or what?_ “Creature of the what?”

“Have you ever heard of werewolves, Señor...?”

“Actually it’s Lister. David Lister.” He smirked as he looked back at the strange man. _Werewolves, eh? This ought to be good._ “I’m pretty sure I read a book about those once. A man who’s been bitten by a wolf, who turns into a wolf himself when there’s a full moon, right?”

“Si, Señor Lister. Perhaps you will believe my story then, no?”

“What? Are you saying that you’re a werewolf?”

Señor Gato suddenly looked mortally offended. “Certainly not! Me? One of those … those … smelly curs? No, no, sir. You misunderstand me. For I am not a werewolf. I am…” Señor Gato stood up, his hands on his hips as he struck a dashing pose. “A were…CAT.” As Lister sat dumbstruck, there was a sudden dramatic flourish of a guitar.

“You’re a what?” Lister asked again, just to be certain he’d heard right.

“A werecat, Señor!” Again a dramatic guitar chord jangled from somewhere just outside the dining room and Lister turned towards the sound quizzically. _What the hell, does this bloke have his own theme music?_ Suddenly Krytfield poked his head through the service doorway.

“I thought you might like some dinner entertainment, Mr Lister, sir! I’ve been practising and… Oh!” Krytfield started as he noticed the extra dinner guest at the table. “Señor Gato! I didn’t realize you were joining us for dinner this evening.”

“Si, Señor Krytfield! I was just telling Señor Lister here my story!”

“Oh no, sir.” Krytfield groaned as he clapped a hand to his forehead. “Not that again.” The butler walked in through the doorway, a Spanish guitar slung around his neck.

“No, please.” Lister leaned back in his chair and smirked. “I’m looking forward to hearing this.” _No wonder the villagers give this place such a wide berth. A “cursed" Count who only ever shows his face at night, and now this character._ “Tell me, Señor Gato. How did you become a… werecat, was it?”

“Si, Señor. I will tell you!” Señor Gato took a last hearty slurp from his spoon, and wiped his chin before adjusting his sleeves and launching into his story. He leaned in towards Lister dramatically as he talked. “It happened many, many years ago…”

“It was TWO years ago,” Krytfield whispered fiercely into Lister’s ear as he put down his guitar on a spare chair.

“On a cold night, in the dead of winter…”

“It was early September,” Krytfield muttered under his breath as he began to clear away the stew dishes.

Señor Gato continued, oblivious to Krytfield’s interjections. “I was a Spanish diplomat, sent here on official business to meet with the Count. I arrived in a gilded carriage, studded with opals, and pulled by a dozen glittering white stallions.” The Señor spread his hands out in the air, and got a faraway look in his eyes as he told his tale.

“It was a plain wooden coach, pulled by a couple of mangy horses,” Krytfield harrumphed as he loaded the dishes onto his cart and carried them out. Lister managed to hide a giggle by lighting up a cigarette.

“It was the middle of the night!” The Señor continued. “A full moon was hanging in the sky! We still were miles away from Castle Rimmer! Suddenly, the coach hit a rock! The wheel was broken! I was knocked from the coach! Then, before I even knew what was happening, the beast! It had me!”

“What beast?” Lister asked between puffs of smoke.

“The WERECAT, Señor!” Señor Gato stood up, slamming his hands down on the table for emphasis. “It had fur as black as night! Claws like razors! Teeth like swords!” Señor Gato curled his fingers inwards and bared his own teeth, doing his best to impersonate the werecat.

“It jumped on me and knocked me to the ground!” Señor Gato sprang from the floor and leaped onto his chair, knocking it backwards and tumbling to the floor with it. Lister grabbed his pint from the table and held it protectively against his chest as Señor Gato proceeded to wrestle on the carpet with his chair. Krytfield suddenly reappeared through the doorway, wheeling in the second course.

“Señor Gato, would you please get that chair up off of the floor? I just cleaned that upholstery the other day!”

“But I’m telling my story, Señor Krytfield!”

“You can tell your story without rolling around on the floor and destroying His Excellency’s furniture!” Lister pursed his lips together furiously as he flicked the ashes from his cigarette, desperate to try and preserve some decorum and not laugh at Señor Gato’s antics.

Señor Gato let out a mighty “Hmph!” as he stood up and righted his chair. “My apologies, Señor Lister. My story is much more exciting when I’m allowed to act it out.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do it justice,” Lister said as he hid a grin behind his hand.

“Where was I again?”

“Oh … er, I think the beast was attacking you.”

“Yes! So there I was, pinned to the ground! I could feel the beast’s hot breasts on my neck!”

Lister spat out a mouthful of lager onto the table. “The beast’s WHAT?”

“BREATH, Señor Gato!” Krytfield corrected as he mopped up the spilled beer with a tea towel. “You mean BREATH!”

“Ah, si! My apologies! I could feel the beast’s hot breath on my neck!”

“Thank goodness for that,” Lister muttered. “Sorry for the mess, Krytfield.”

“It’s no trouble, sir.” Krytfield said before leaning down and whispering, “Things like this always happen when the Señor is around. Between you and me, sir, he tests my patience.” Lister hid a snort behind a drag on his cigarette as the Señor went on.

“I wrestled with the beast, but even though I have the strength of a man twice my size, it was too strong for me! Then suddenly...” The Señor, using his hand like a puppet, grabbed onto his own neck. “It bit me!” He threw himself down on the ground, and rolled around, grappling with his own hand.

“Señor Gato, must you really?” Krytfield shook his head as he shifted the trolley out of the way of the writhing Señor and began to serve Lister the second course.

“Ooh, is that rabbit?” Señor Gato paused his pantomiming as he sniffed at the air.

Krytfield sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Yes, Señor.”

“¡Conejo! Me encanta el conejo!” Señor Gato leapt back into his seat and clapped his hands together with glee as Krytfield slid a shank of roasted rabbit and vegetables onto his plate.

Lister finished his cigarette as he waited for Señor Gato to continue his story, but the strange man remained silent as he tucked into his dinner. “So then what happened?” There was no answer from Señor Gato, just the scraping of his knife on his plate as he eagerly sawed into the meat.

“Allow me, sir,” Krytfield said as he began to pour Lister another pint of lager. “Later that evening, Señor Gato arrived at the castle. He had a very superficial bite mark on his neck and was in complete hysterics. Once I was able to get him to calm down, he told that ridiculous story about the werewolf.”

“WereCAT,” Señor Gato chimed in between bites.

“Yes, Señor. The wereCAT.” Krytfield leaned in towards Lister and whispered in his ear. “Honestly, I think he was just bitten by one of those stray cats that we have wandering around the forest. It was a tiny little wound, but he carried on like he’d been mauled by a herd of rampant wildebeests.” Lister sniggered into his drink as Señor Gato continued to eat his dinner, oblivious. “Whatever did bite him appeared to give him a touch of delirium. He couldn’t remember what he had come to the castle for, and refused to leave!”

“You misremember, Señor Krytfield!” Señor Gato interjected through a mouthful. “The Count, he demanded I stay! He so admired my suits, he decided that I needed to stay and work for him.”

Krytfield didn’t even bother to whisper his reply to Lister. “He was in such a state when the Count tried to have him removed, that he wound up accidentally blowing his nose on His Excellency’s cape!” Lister looked down at the creamed spinach on his plate, and pushed it to the side with a grimace.

“Señor Gato insisted that he could make the Count a new cape to replace the one he … defiled.” Krytfield shuddered at the memory. “The Count reluctantly agreed, but he was so pleased with the replacement cape that he decided to allow the Señor to remain, against my better judgement.”

“The Count is a very generous and forgiving man,” Señor Gato said with a grin, as he waved his fork in the air.

“I’m sure he is,” Lister said as he looked at the closed door at the top of the staircase. _And where is he?_ “Will the Count be joining us soon, Krytfield?”

“He should be here sometime after dinner is finished, sir.”

“I see,” Lister tried not to sound disappointed as the butler left with his trolley.

Lister spent the next several minutes eating his dinner silently while Señor Gato blathered away next to him. Lister attempted to listen politely, but when the Señor began to use words like couture, organza, and crêpe, he found himself tuning out and spending most of his time glancing up at the staircase and wondering when the Count would make his appearance. Señor Gato was waxing poetical about Battenberg lace when, much to Lister’s relief, Krytfield rolled in his trolley with a tray of steaming bread pudding, drizzled with honey, and slivered almonds. After the butler served him, Lister dug in mechanically. After every bite his eyes went back to the closed door at the top of the steps like clockwork, as he watched and waited for the Count. Suddenly he felt a tug on his left arm. Señor Gato had pinched the cloth of Lister’s suit between his fingers and was examining it closely.

“What is your suit made of, Señor Lister?”

“This?” Lister looked down at his clothing and then back at Señor Gato. The contrast between his plain black dinner jacket and the Señor’s ensemble was almost comical. “You know, I’m not really sure. It was a gift actually. From my old employer.”

“That colour does nothing for your complexion. You really ought to be wearing something with brighter, bolder shades. May I?” Señor Gato pulled a tape measure from his pocket, and quickly wrapped it around Lister.

“Erm … this really isn’t necessary, Señor.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Señor Lister. Now stand up and arms out!” Lister sighed and followed Señor Gato’s instructions, figuring it was best to humour the odd man. He was measuring Lister’s head when suddenly Krytfield scurried in, and hurried to the base of the staircase.

“His Excellency, Count Rimmer!” The butler called out. Lister scrambled to get the tape measure off his head, but Señor Gato held it tight.

“Please, Señor! I’m trying to get your circumference!”

“But … the Count!” Lister hissed as he tried to turn his head towards the staircase.

“Hold still!” Señor Gato mumbled some numbers in Spanish before wrapping the tape firmly around Lister’s neck. Lister could hear the soft taps of the Count’s leather soles as he made his way down the stairs. Lister felt a sudden jolt go through his chest as the Count swept into view. He was wearing a plain black cape which only succeeded in accentuating the paleness of his skin and the contrasting colours of his lips, hair and eyes.

“Good … good evening, Count Rimmer,” Lister stammered as the Count approached him.

“Mr Lister,” the Count gave him a curt nod without making eye contact at all and Lister felt his heart plunge down into his shoes. “Señor Gato, that will be enough, thank you.”

“Just one more measurement, Señor Count!” Señor Gato said as he fidgeted with the tape.

“Mr Lister will not be requiring your services. You can go.”

“But you said…”

“That will be all, Señor! Please leave!” Lister cringed at the level of irritation in the Count’s voice.

Señor Gato grumbled as he whipped the tape off, snapping it against Lister’s shaving wound.

“Ow!” Lister grunted as the scab on his neck opened up and fresh blood began to well up in the cut. “Damn it.” Lister muttered as he pressed against the wound with his hand. His fingers came away bloody. As he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief, he noticed the Count. The man’s skin had gone even paler than usual, to the point where it almost glistened under the glow of the candles. His eyes were wide, his expression set in an odd combination of fear and something that Lister couldn’t quite place.

“You’re … bleeding,” he said. His voice had a ragged, raw edge to it that Lister had never heard before.

“It’s just a scratch. I cut myself shaving earlier.” As Lister staunched the flow of blood with his handkerchief, the Count began to move in towards him. He stretched a hand out towards Lister, his fingers trembling. The Count’s eyes widened as he chewed on his lower lip, his sharp teeth glinting in the candlelight. Lister’s breath caught in his throat as the Count’s fingers closed around his upper arm. The Count’s eyes were as black as darkened streets, his pupils dilated so wide there was only the tiniest hint of hazel around the edge. The Count began to pull him closer. Lister gasped as the chill of his fingers sank through the fabric of his suit and into his skin.

“YOUR EXCELLENCY!” Lister jumped as Krytfield’s voice cut through the silence like an axe. The Count suddenly dropped Lister’s arm as though it was a hot pan and took several steps backwards. Krytfield cleared his throat dramatically. “Would you like me to bring anything to the sitting room, Your Excellency?”

“No … thank you, Krytfield. I … I need to go,” the Count stammered as he turned without another word and headed for the staircase.

“What?” Lister said incredulously as he followed after the Count. “But you’ve only just arrived?”

“But, Señor Count!” Señor Gato shouted in Lister’s ear, startling him. He’d completely forgotten that the other man was still there. “What about your new cape?”

“Forget about it!” The Count yelled angrily over his shoulder as he shoved Krytfield out of the way and started walking up the steps.

“Please, won’t you at least have a drink before you go?” Lister tried to make his voice sound less desperate than he felt.

“No, I can’t. I’ve … forgotten something. I need to go.” The Count quickened his pace and was already opening the door by the time Lister reached the base of the staircase.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Goodnight, Mr Lister,” was all the Count replied before he slammed the door behind him.

No-one said anything as the sound of the slammed door reverberated through the dining hall, before eventually fading into silence. Señor Gato made his exit in a flourish of pink, muttering curses in Spanish under his breath. Lister went back to his chair, and sat down with a heavy plop. Krytfield rushed over to him and quickly poured him a fresh pint. “Thanks, Krytfield.” Lister took a heavy slug and sighed.

“Try not to let the Count’s behaviour upset you, sir.”

“I suppose I just don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all, sir. The Count is just … he’s … he’s not feeling particularly well right now, you see.”

“Oh?” Lister paused as he let his thumb trace small circles on the outside of his pint glass. “It’s nothing serious, is it?”

“Oh no, sir. I’m sure he’ll be feeling just fine in a day or two. Now, would you like some more dessert?” Krytfield looked down at Lister, a reassuring smile on his face. Oddly enough, it reminded Lister of his grandmother. He smiled back at the butler and nodded.

“And another one of these, please.” Lister tapped the side of his pint glass.

“Excellent,” Krytfield said as he served Lister up another hearty portion of the bread pudding and filled another pint glass to the top.

“Thanks, Krytfield. You’re an amazing cook, you know that?” Krytfield’s ears turned pink as he smiled back at Lister.

“Why, thank you, Mr Lister sir. That’s very kind of you. Actually it was one of the Skutters who prepared the bread pudding. He makes all of our desserts. The one without the…” Krytfield cleared his throat politely as he gestured with his fingers to mime ringlets around his head.

“Ah,” Lister stopped himself before a chuckle escaped his throat. He found it both surprising and amusing that Krytfield appeared to differentiate between the Skutters in much the same way that he did. “Well, you’ll have to send him my compliments then.”

“I certainly will, Mr Lister sir. And now…” He reached for his Spanish guitar and slung it back around his neck. “How about that dinner music? Maybe it will pep up the mood a little bit?” He played a quick flourish and like clockwork, Señor Gato strolled back through the dining room door. He picked up his garment bag, and looked back at Krytfield’s and Lister’s incredulous faces.

“What? I forgot His Majesty’s new cape! Goodnight, Señors!” He left the room again, the jewels on his suit winking as he disappeared through the door.

“Perhaps the music can wait for another time,” Krytfield said as he looked at his guitar suspiciously before laying it down. “I believe I might be losing my taste for Spanish guitar.”


	7. Chapter 7

The insides of Lister’s brain were churning as if he’d poured a shot of țuică into his ear. He absently pushed his bedroom door shut before spreading out on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head as he let his eyes trace along the patterned edge of the stucco ceiling. The intricate whorls danced in front of his unseeing eyes.

He tried to think clearly, but it was no easy feat with the alcohol coursing through his veins and the mystery his befuddled brain was obsessing over. Krytfield had said the Count’s behaviour had nothing to do with him, so what had it been about? Illness didn’t seem an adequate explanation.

Agitated, he turned over the possibilities - the Count had been offended by him talking about his fiancée; by Señor Gato trying to make him a client when the strange man was supposed to only work for the Count; the Count was having second thoughts about buying a property in England…

None of these accounted for the Count’s behaviour when he had noticed Lister’s shaving cut - the dilated pupils, the cold grip on his arm, Krytfield having to shout to jolt the Count out of his apparent trance...

Gradually his breathing slowed as the food and beer in his stomach took effect. His eyelids grew heavy. _I should really get into my nightshirt _was his last conscious thought as sleep overcame him.__

____

____

 

Lister grunted as something jerked him awake. He blinked and propped himself up on his elbows, gazing around in confusion. He appeared to be alone.

He started as laughter echoed in the corridor outside. Feminine-sounding laughter. _What, there are women here too? How big is this castle exactly? ___

____

____

He gasped loudly as the doorknob started to turn. Why the smeg hadn’t he locked it? He sat bolt upright in alarm as the door swung slowly open.

Three women stood in the doorway, regarding him with keen interest.

 

One broke away from the group and stepped into his room, the diaphanous white folds of her nightgown revealing more than they concealed. He tried not to stare too obviously as her similarly barely clad companions followed.

All three looked around the same age as him and were strikingly pretty. Physically, they were distinct from each other - one a petite redhead, another a willowy blonde. But the third…

He just managed to bite back the name on the tip of his tongue. Of course it wasn’t her. It was impossible. Or at least, highly unlikely.

Unfortunately, a certain part of his anatomy couldn’t have cared less about such technicalities. It gave an interested twitch as the curly-haired brunette who was clearly the leader moved towards him.

“Such a fine young gentleman.”

She spoke in a Romanian accent similar to Doamnă Bunică’s, but with a seductive undertone which had been completely absent from the innkeeper’s voice. Her gaze swept him up and down as her companions drew in closer. He blushed as all three looked at him as though he was a particularly choice delicacy.

“I … don’t suppose your name is Lise?” he managed to stammer at the leader, more for something to say than because he had any doubt that it wasn’t.

Her flirtatious smile revealed canine teeth as long and sharp as the Count’s. “It can be, if you want it to be.”

Flashbacks to his passionate university affair with a young waitress at Oxford’s Indian restaurant cascaded into his brain. He felt his body starting to eagerly respond and quickly crossed his legs.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m taken.”

The redhead smirked. “I don’t see anyone else in here.”

“We won’t tell if you don’t,” the blonde coaxed.

Before he could reply, the Lise lookalike reached out and ran a teasing hand lightly up and down his arm. The coolness of her touch reminded him of the Count. At his involuntary shiver, she repeated the motion, leaning over him. He tried valiantly not to look at her plunging neckline but gave in with a quiet gasp as she continued to caress him.

 

With a sudden yelp of surprise, she was yanked away from him. Lister turned crimson as the Count, looking angrier than he had ever seen him, pushed her further away from the bed, then turned his attention to her companions, who took evasive action and scurried to the corner of the room.

“How dare you?!”

Lister winced at the fury in his voice, but the Lise doppelganger flicked her hair back defiantly. “We were bored.”

The Count glanced towards Lister, who was awkwardly hugging his knees. “Are you alright, Mr Lister?” 

“I’m … I’m fine, Your Excellency,” Lister stuttered as the Count’s eyes snagged on the scab on his jawline. “Thank you,” he added weakly as the hazel gaze intensified. It took him a moment to realise why it felt so familiar. The slightly glazed look turning to … hunger?

With an obvious struggle, the Count turned back to the women. “How many times have you been told?!” The exasperation in his tone was actually a relief to Lister.

“Why should I obey you?” the leader muttered rebelliously. “You’re neither my husband nor my sire!”

The Count sighed in a way which could only be described as long-suffering. “Because - for the hundredth time - your precious sire is no more. If you don’t want to suffer the same fate, do as you’re told. Now go and find Krytfield. Out, all of you. NOW!”

The trio reluctantly shuffled out, grumbling in undertones. “Lise” cast a final longing glance at Lister, who averted his eyes guiltily. The Count slammed the door on them.

“Buenos noches, Señoritas!” The cheerful voice outside shattered the tension. “May I introduce myself? Señor Gato, at your service.”

Lister giggled. He couldn’t help it.

There was no response from the women as far as he could hear. Señor Gato’s voice gradually faded into the distance as he continued his fruitless pursuit. 

“So, what are such fair Señoritas doing in this old castle at such a late hour? I offer my services as your guide…”

 

He turned back to the Count and caught him rolling his eyes. The sight of that expression was enough to banish some of his mortification at the compromising position the Count had seen him in. He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, Your Excellency - who were those ladies?”

The Count cleared his throat. “Mr Lister, I apologise for the intrusion. It won’t happen again.” He looked around the room distractedly.

“I suppose I should have locked my door. But who were those ladies?”

The Count continued avoiding Lister’s gaze. With his eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall, he said carefully: “My … sisters-in-law.”

Lister wanted to ask why he hadn’t been introduced to them before, but upon reflection, it was fairly obvious...

“They looked at me as though they wanted to eat me alive,” he said softly.

“Mr Lister, I-”

“The same way YOU do.” Before the Count could respond, Lister stood up, eyeing the small mirror on the dressing table. He grabbed it and held it out towards the Count, tilting it to the right angle. All he saw was the wall behind him.

“You’re … a vampire. Aren’t you?”

The Count snorted, his considerable nostrils flaring disdainfully. “Of course not! Have you gone mad?”

“Then why isn’t your reflection showing in this? Why do you never appear during the daytime?” Lister moved to his chest of drawers and fumbled out the heavy wooden crucifix which Doamnă Bunică had pressed upon him.

Heart pounding, he brandished it at the Count, who recoiled instantly.

“I knew it,” Lister said quietly, wondering exactly when his subconscious had realised.

Visibly rattled, the Count held his hands up placatingly. “Now just calm down, Mr Lister. And if you could stop waving that ghastly trinket in my face, I would appreciate it.”

Without taking his eyes off the Count, Lister hung the cross around his neck.

The Count huffed. “Very well, if you insist. Yes, I’m a vampire. A creature of the night. A monster that subsists on blood. Happy now?”

His tone was a mixture of irritation and embarrassment. Lister scrutinised his face and realised to his surprise that the pale cheeks had become slightly pink.

“You’re ashamed.”

“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. Why would it be?”

“But it’s amazing! You’ve lived for centuries!”

“Certainly not! Do I look that old?! I’m 31.” He paused, then added reluctantly: “Or if you count my years as a vampire ... 56. Oh God, I’m practically an old man.”

Lister looked him up and down. “You definitely don’t look that old. You don’t look old at all.”

For a few minutes they simply looked at each other. “Thank you.” The Count gestured towards the bed. “Why don’t you … sit down?”

“After you.” Lister waved at his writing desk chair.

The Count folded his long limbs into the slightly cramped chair. Lister perched on the end of his bed.

“So how did you become a vampire?”

The Count grimaced as though he had bitten into a lemon. “I’m afraid that’s something I’m not willing to disclose.”

“Alright, well … at least tell me which of the myths about vampires are actually right.” Lister began ticking them off on his fingers. “Daylight, crucifixes, no reflection, garlic-”

“No, no,” the Count cut in. “I just hate garlic. Ever since I was a child, I was forced to eat it every other day. I hated the taste and the smell made me feel ill. At least when my family died the second time, I could finally ban it from the Castle. Foul herb.”

“I see. How did your family die? I mean, how were they killed the second time, as vampires?” Lister flushed, feeling both nosy and fascinated. After all, the Count’s lack of grief for his family had been stated bluntly by the man himself.

“It was my brothers’ fault,” came the immediate reply. “Once they became vampires, they couldn’t very well carry on with their military careers.”

He snorted scornfully. “So they spent their time carousing with the village girls. When three of them went missing, the locals assumed they had simply been drained rather than turned. John, Frank and Howard were far too busy enjoying their vampire brides to care about the danger their actions had put the rest of us in. It never occurred to them that the peasants would eventually get up the nerve to storm the Castle looking for revenge.”

Lister leaned forward, agog. “What actually happened?”

“One late autumn night, we were all at dinner in the main dining hall-”

“Dinner? Can vampires still eat food then?”

The Count hesitated. “They can, but … it was more because Mother insisted on observing the same family traditions as we had in life. Food was optional but attendance wasn’t.”

“So, not the hall I’ve been eating in then?” Lister shivered excitedly.

“No, the Grand Hall over on the other side of the Castle where Father used to entertain visitors. It’s ridiculously over-sized and Krytfield thought you’d prefer a cosier one.”

“I do.” Lister wondered how he had missed this hall when exploring. But given he still had no idea where the Count’s quarters were, there was obviously more to the Castle than he had yet seen.

“So there I was sipping a Bloody Mary, trying not to nod off from boredom, when we were ambushed. What appeared to be the entire male population of the village and the surrounding areas - plus a fair number of females - had invaded the Castle. I found out later that they had bribed one of the servants to let them in and overpowered the rest.

They were all armed to the teeth with stakes, crossbows and flaming torches. Before I had time to react, one of them took aim at Father and staked him. The women surrounded Mother and did the same to her.

I had no help from my brothers - it was every Rimmer for himself. I grabbed a ceremonial sword from the wall and began defending myself. The battle raged on; my brothers fell one by one. Finally I managed to make my escape and outdistanced the mob for long enough to reach one of the secret passages my ancestor had had built into the walls of the Castle.

I waited in there for the whole of the following day and emerged at nightfall to find that the mob had fled after ransacking parts of the Castle. My servants - the traitor aside - had stayed loyal and begun the arduous process of cleaning up.

I hated my family, but I took no pleasure in their burials. Their remains were taken to the family crypt and are there to this day.”

Lister’s eyes shone as he pictured the Count with a sword, fending off enemies and swinging from chandeliers, his cape billowing. Then he took in the Count’s final statement.

“Ewww, man. You don’t sleep surrounded by your dead family, do you?” As he realised what he had blurted out, his eyes widened and he clapped a hand to his mouth.

The Count’s eyebrows rose in horror. “I should think not! I have my own quarters, thank you very much.” 

Lister was stammering an apology when the sound of birdsong filtered through the window, which he had left open a crack during the day. He looked over, startled. The first pale blue streaks of dawn were beginning to pierce the darkness.

The Count quickly got to his feet. “I must leave you, Mr Lister.”

Lister jumped up. “I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

The Count’s expression was a picture of confusion. “There’s really no need, Mr Lister. I know the way.”

Another spirited chorus from the birds outside made him cast a nervous glance at the lightening sky. He turned towards the doorway.

Lister followed him. The Count gave up protesting and simply set off at speed along the corridor, Lister trotting to keep up.

“How did your sisters-in-law survive the storming of the castle?” he panted.

The Count didn’t reply for several minutes as he strode with haste through the twisting corridors and up a couple of staircases. He reached a pair of doors emblazoned with the Rimmer crest and swept dramatically through them. Lister pushed through the closing doors and found himself in a pleasantly furnished and decorated living room. The windows were shuttered.

“They were never in the Hall to start with. Mother tolerated them as long as they were kept in my brothers’ respective quarters, but refused to let them join family gatherings. Her snobbish hypocrisy was their salvation.”

“That’s … sort of satisfying in a way.”

“In one way. In another, it means I’ve spent decades keeping them in check,” the Count sighed.

He opened the door of the adjoining room and Lister beheld what looked like a four-poster bed surrounded by luxurious champagne velvet curtains. The bedroom was windowless and softly lit.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he followed the Count as he drew back the heavy curtains to reveal a second set. A swift pull at gold-embroidered velvet ties brought the outer set back together, enclosing himself and Lister in the narrow corridor of fabric. 

Mesmerised, he watched the Count open the burgundy set of curtains to reveal an elegant coffin on a raised plinth.

The Count looked back at him, many emotions fighting for dominance on his expressive face. “I’m sure you can let yourself out, Mr Lister. Goodnight.”

Lister stepped back into the curtained space as the Count drew the inner curtains, shutting him out. He heard creaking sounds and a lid being closed.

He knew he should leave. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He slipped through the gap in the curtains and knocked on the coffin lid. An exasperated voice shouted: “What?”

“Sorry, Your Excellency. But I just have a couple more questions…”

“Are … are you lighting a cigarette?!”


	8. Chapter 8

It took a full ten minutes before Lister finally got the hint and left the Count in peace, slipping carefully through the two sets of curtains and the inner door which locked behind him. He closed the double doors of the Count’s living area and felt an odd pang in his chest as the metal of the latch snapped into place. He turned and looked wistfully at the armadillo crest on the door, before heading down the corridor, his head spinning as he tried to wrap his mind around everything that had transpired during the evening.

Lister dug a hand into his trouser pocket and fished out his cigarette case and a book of matches. His fingers absently traced along the engraving from Kristine and he felt a sudden rush of guilt as he popped it open and pulled out a cigarette. He pressed the end to his lips, and hurriedly snapped the case shut, stuffing it back into his pocket. The tip of his cigarette glowed orange in the dim light of dawn that trickled through the windows. As he exhaled his first lungful of smoke, he realized that his heart was hammering away in his chest. He wandered through the corridors absently, hoping that his slow pace and the cigarette would eventually calm him down.

 _Vampires._ His brain kept screaming the thought over and over again. _Real, actual, honest to goodness vampires._ He shook his head at the insanity of it all. If he hadn’t seen the Count’s lack of reflection for himself, he wouldn’t have been able to believe it. Even though the Count had answered many of his questions, the more he walked, the more his questions grew. _Why did the villagers spare the Count’s life? Surely they would have come back and tried to kill him too? Especially if he had wounded or killed anybody in the battle. And how does the Count survive as a vampire? Does he feed off the local villagers?_ A chill shivered its way down Lister’s spine at the thought. _If he feeds on humans, how come he hasn’t attacked me?_ Lister started, as he remembered Krytfield’s interruption at dinner the evening before. “Holy smeg. He wanted to bite me, right then and there didn’t he?” The thought sent an odd thrill through Lister, as he boggled at the idea.

 _But then if he just sees me as something to snack on, how come he saved me from those women? Is he even interested in real estate at all? Or have I been brought here for some other more nefarious reasons?_ He quickly shrugged away that sinister thought. _Clearly if the Count wanted to feed on me, he’d have done it already. He’s had ample opportunity. He could’ve just told Krytfield off and sucked me dry if he wanted to._ That thought sent an entirely different sort of shiver through Lister, and he shook his head in confusion.

He thought back to the Count’s elegant sleeping chambers, the swooping curtains surrounding the lavish coffin and a flush stole over his skin. For just a moment, as he’d perched on top of the Count’s coffin, smoking and listening to his voice reverberate against the wood, he’d had a sudden impulse to fling open the lid and climb in beside the Count. An image suddenly flashed through his mind of the two of them side by side. He wondered how it would feel to press up against the Count, their lips so close… Lister took an especially long drag on his cigarette as he tried to shake that picture from his head. _What am I thinking?_ He held in the smoke until he began to feel dizzy. _Keep your head on straight, David Lister._

As he continued to wind his way through the castle, he realized he was completely and utterly lost again. “Smeg,” he muttered as he turned around another unrecognizable corner. “How can I still be getting lost in this place?” He turned towards a marble statue that was perched in a corner and asked it: “How ‘bout you? You look like the kind of bloke who might know his way around here.” He draped his arm casually around the statue’s shoulders. “Fancy coming back to my place?” Lister laughed until he turned and saw Blond Toupee staring at him from a nearby doorway, a feather duster clutched in his hands and an alarmed expression on his face.

“Oh … er … hi.” Lister finished lamely. The Skutter gave him a look of reproach before going back to dusting. Lister pressed on, too embarrassed to even ask the Skutter for directions back to his quarters.

The sun was crawling higher in the sky and filling the corridors with morning light when Lister emerged into a hall that looked somewhat familiar. He recognized a heavy oaken doorway that led to the library and suddenly remembered the selection of occult books. The sunlight from the tall windows slanted into the high-ceilinged room, giving it the appearance of a cathedral. Quickly, he found the copy of _The Vampyre And His Habits_ and tucked it under his arm. Even though he’d been up most of the night, he didn’t feel at all sleepy and was curious to learn all he could about his supernatural host.

Finding the library had made it easier for Lister to orientate himself, and he quickly found his way back to his room. With the memory of the vampire girls still fresh in his mind, he closed the door behind him and locked it. He jiggled it a few times to ensure it was secure before tossing the book onto the bed and shrugging out of his jacket and tie. After settling in comfortably against the pillows, he opened Dr Ludwig Von Krankheit’s hefty tome, skimmed past the dedication and preface and began to read.

The prose was lengthy and surprisingly dull for a book about supernatural beings. As Lister slogged his way through the first chapter which focused on lavish descriptions of vampires, he found himself getting more and more offended on the Count’s behalf.

 

> _“The vampyre is a hideous abomination of the glory that is God’s man. They are fearsome in appearance, with jutting fangs, sickly skin, and the inexplicable sort of ugliness that can only arise from a corpse brought to life.”_

_Has this old fogey ever even SEEN a vampire?_ Lister thought angrily as he turned the page. _A hideous abomination? He’s probably the best looking bloke I've ever seen._ Lister’s ears flushed as his brain pulled up a startlingly clear picture of his first glimpse of the Count. The sinuous swirls of blue and black as he descended the staircase, the pale skin, striking eyes and flawlessly coiffed hair. _Hideous abomination my arse._

Feeling irritated, Lister flipped further ahead into the book until his thumb paused at a section where the corner had been bent down to mark it. A paragraph had been painstakingly outlined with immaculately straight lines of red ink.

 

> _“The most contemptible aspect of the vampyre is that he is damned for all eternity. No salvation awaits those who have been cursed to drink the blood of the living. Doomed to suffer forever as the undead who prey on the living, they can only hope to find peace by a wooden stake through the heart which will end their torment and reign of terror.”_

“Jesus,” Lister muttered out loud. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you, Von Krankheit?” He let his finger trace around the line of red ink, wondering who had highlighted that paragraph. He jumped as there was a sudden hurried knock on his door. _Who the smeg could that be?_

Lister unlatched the bolt and tentatively peeked through the gap in the door. He saw another breakfast trolley had been delivered to his room. He looked the other way and saw the back end of Bald Curtains disappear around a corner. Lister thought about yelling after him and thanking him, but the scent of bacon hit his nostrils and he couldn’t think of anything but wrestling the trolley into his room. Once the door had been safely locked again, he lifted the lid of the silver platter and was thrilled to see a neat row of bacon sandwiches on crusty bread, and a pot of strong coffee. He made a mental note to thank the Skutter the next time he saw him, as he poured himself a steaming cup and grabbed the largest of the butties.

Lister clambered back onto the bed. For a moment he worried about the mess he would leave on the quilt, but quickly shrugged. _There are blood-sucking creatures of the night roaming the halls of this place. I don’t think Krytfield’s going to be too put out by a few crumbs._ He perched at the head of the bed, knee up, the book balanced against it, a sandwich in one hand, his cup in the other, and used his elbows to flip awkwardly through the pages. As he skimmed through a bit about vampires preferring the blood of virgins he found his mind wandering more to his host.

 _Blood of virgins. Is that what the Count drinks? Where does he get the blood? And what about the girls? Where do they get their blood? They can’t possibly just nip down to the village and bag themselves a peasant whenever they feel like it. Surely the villagers wouldn’t just let them live up here in the castle if they were feeding off of whomever they wanted? Smeg. I hope he doesn’t feed off of the Skutters and Krytfield._ Lister nearly lost his appetite at the thought but quickly recovered as his stomach growled and he reached for another sarnie.

As he worked his way through the platter of sandwiches, he slowly elbowed his way through a short section entitled: _The Vampyre: Eternal Youth_.

 

> _If a mortal is cursed to become a vampyre while they are in the flower of youth, they will retain this appearance of youth and vitality so long as they have a regular supply of fresh blood to sustain them. In this way, the vampyre can live forever, never dying and never showing the ravages of age and time. The vampyre can therefore be considered an immortal creature. Some experts in the ways of the occult claim to have encountered vampyres who have walked the earth, feeding on the living, since the time of the ancient Sumerians._

_That doesn’t make it sound half bad,_ Lister thought as his eyelids began to grow heavy. _Staying young forever, getting to live forever..._ With his stomach filled to bursting with bacon butties, and the soft pillows at his back, he lowered the book to his lap and quickly dozed off.

 

* * *

 

Lister’s eyes snapped open as he felt cool fingers caressing the skin of his leg. He looked down and realized with some alarm that he wasn’t wearing any clothes. His alarm increased tenfold as he saw that the cool fingers tracing their way up his thigh belonged to the Count. He was on his knees, and leaned in towards Lister, his fangs glinting in the moonlight that streamed through the window.

“Your… Your Excellency,” Lister stammered as the Count loomed over him. “What … what are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I should have done days ago, Mr Lister.” Lister’s breath hitched as the Count slithered across him with the fluidity of a snake and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m going to eat you alive.” He smiled wickedly as he leaned in and Lister felt the cold pressure of the Count’s lips against his neck.

“Oh smeg,” Lister gasped as the weight of the Count’s body pressed fully against his nakedness. “Oh god!” He cried out as the Count sank his teeth into the soft skin of his neck. “Oh god, yes!”

Lister snapped awake with a jerk and looked around him blearily. He was alone, fully dressed, and the moonlight streaming through the window in his dream had been replaced by the shadowy grey of dusk. He flopped back to the pillow with a sigh, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest he could hear it. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the sound was actually the dinner gong being sounded.

“Dinner already? Damn.” Lister winced as he lifted the heavy vampire book from his severely cramped nether regions. He sighed again as he ran his fingers through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake the remnants of the dream from his head. The gong sounded again, and Lister groaned as he went to wash and change.

“I’m sorry I’m so late,” Lister looked sheepish as he slid into his seat at the dining room table.

“Not at all, sir,” Krytfield said as he lifted the lid off of a platter revealing a roast chicken surrounded by root vegetables. “I suspected that you might be somewhat … delayed this evening.”

“Yes, it was a very ... interesting night.” Lister chewed on his lip as he watched Krytfield carve into the bird. He was desperate to pepper the butler with questions, but was unsure if it would be a breach of etiquette. When your master was a blood-sucking creature of the night, was it a faux pas to speak to your guests about said blood-sucking? Lister decided to risk it. “So, Krytfield…”

“I’m sure you have many questions you’d like to have answered, Mr Lister. But I think it might be best if you wait to speak with the Count first.”

“Oh,” Lister sat back in his seat, feeling chastened. “Will I be seeing him soon?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I believe His Excellency is still resting.” Krytfield remained silent as he served Lister a portion of the chicken and vegetables and poured him a pint of beer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to attend to. I’ll be back later with dessert.”

“Please,” Lister said as he raised a hand. “Don’t bother with dessert. I’m not feeling very hungry tonight.”

Krytfield bowed. “As you wish, sir.” Lister propped his head up on his elbow and picked at his dinner as Krytfield wheeled away the tray.

Lister stared across the hall at the nearest window as he nibbled absentmindedly at his chicken. He had only eaten a few bites before he pushed himself away from the table in irritation. “I can’t just sit around like this. I’ve got to go and talk to him,” he said aloud as he grabbed his pint and took a heavy slug from it. “Now, I’ve just got to remember the way to his quarters.”

 

* * *

 

Lister snapped his pocket watch closed in irritation. It had taken him nearly forty minutes of random wandering before he’d finally come across the familiar wooden door with the Rimmer family crest carved into it. Not wanting to give the Count a chance to refuse him, he turned the knob quietly and slipped inside. The Count was nowhere to be seen, but a glimmer of candlelight from a doorway across from the Count’s bedchamber caught his eye. He crossed the carpeted floor and found that it led to a small spiral staircase made of stone. He climbed it slowly, wondering what he might find at the top. He was surprised when he stepped out into a circular tower room that was clearly some sort of art studio. It was well lit and furnished with soft cushioned sofas and chairs, and shelves filled with paintbrushes, canvases and papers. A heavily curtained doorway led to a balcony that looked out over the starry Transylvanian sky. Seated on a velvet settee, his long legs stretched out in front of him and a pad of paper in his lap, was the Count.

“Hi,” Lister said as he walked over to the settee. The Count jerked in surprise, his pencil flying from his fingertips.

“Sorry,” Lister said amiably. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you drawing?”

“Erm … nothing. I mean ... yes. I mean, no! I…” The Count sputtered as he swung his legs off the settee and fumbled for his pencil.

“Can I have a look?” Lister asked as he leaned over the pad in curiosity.  
  
“No!” The Count snatched the pad away from Lister and held it to his chest, but Lister had already seen enough.

“Is that … is that me?” he asked.

“Damn it all,” the Count groaned as he flung the pad to the settee beside him. “Yes, it is. No sense in hiding it now that you’ve seen it, I suppose. Do you make it a habit to barge into people’s private quarters, Mr Lister?”

“Sorry, the door was open.” He turned the pad towards him and his eyebrows raised in surprise as he got a closer look at the Count’s portrait of him. “This is good.” The Count had drawn him sitting on the sofa in the sitting room; he had a cigarette between his fingers, and clouds of smoke swirled around his head. Although it was a simple sketch in black pencil, the likeness was uncanny. “This is really good.” He looked up at the Count and smiled. “I’m impressed.”

The Count mumbled a hurried “Thank you,” as he quickly closed the sketch pad and began to load his pencils into a tin.

“Is any of your work hanging in the castle?”

“No. My father never approved of my … artistic pursuits. I got used to hiding it from people.”

“I see. Well that’s a shame that he didn't appreciate your talents.”

“My father didn’t appreciate a lot of things,” the Count snapped angrily.

Sensing that he had hit a nerve with the mention of the Count’s family, Lister attempted to shift the subject. “Do you mind if we talk a bit more about what happened last night?”

The Count sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a gesture that Lister found almost alarmingly human. He looked at Lister as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. “I suppose since ‘the cat’s out of the bag,’ as they say, there’s no sense in keeping anything from you now. What else do you want to know?”

“Erm … I don’t know quite how to say this tactfully. I know you need to drink blood to survive, but…”

“Are you asking how I manage to sustain myself?”

“Well … yes. I mean, I was wondering about it.” Without waiting to be asked, Lister slid onto the settee next to the Count. He stiffened and pulled away slightly, widening the gap between him and Lister.

“Aren’t you frightened of me?”

“Not really,” Lister responded. “I think if you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it already. We’ve been alone plenty of times.”

The Count blinked a few times as he stared back at Lister. “You’re a very … unusual man, Mr Lister.”

“Me?” Lister cocked an amused eyebrow at the Count. “I’m not the one who sleeps in a coffin.”

“Touché. Well, if you must know, I’ve actually never had much of a taste for blood. Quite frankly, the stuff puts me off. I only drink it when I absolutely must, and I find the blood of animals to be slightly more palatable than that of humans.”

“Animals?”

“Yes. I have a mutually beneficial relationship with the butcher down in the village. Odd sort of fellow, Danish, but he doesn’t ask too many questions. He brings me what I need a few times a week, and he’s paid more than enough for his troubles.”

“I see. And the girls I met last night? What about them?”

The Count snorted in disgust. “I always make sure there is enough for all of us, but more often than not they don’t consume their share. Lord knows what they get up to in the evenings. Mostly I try and stay away from them. I was never fond of them. Even when they were alive.”

“So they were your brothers’ wives?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Unfortunately for them.”

“Unfortunately for who? The girls or your brothers?"

“Both, they were all just as unpleasant in death as they were in life.”

“But you never married?”

The Count’s lips pressed together in a grim line. “No, Mr Lister. I never did.”

“Why not?” Lister made a pretense of shifting to make himself more comfortable and slid himself closer to the Count. The vampire’s eyes grew wider as he pressed himself tighter against the cushions.

“I suppose I just never was the marrying sort,” the Count said as he cleared his throat. “Unlike you, apparently.”

“What do you mean?” Lister asked as he fished in his pocket for his cigarette case.

“Well, you’re engaged, aren’t you? What was her name - Corinne?”

Lister’s fingers hesitated as they grazed against the engraved metal, and he pulled his hand back out of his pocket. “Actually it’s Kristine. Krissie.”

“I suppose you love her a great deal?” The Count’s voice had a sharp edge to it.

Lister sighed as he responded. “Well yes, I do. But … it’s a complicated situation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Krissie’s a lovely girl, she really is, but … honestly she’s always felt like more of a sister to me than anything.”

The Count was quiet for a long moment. “Why are you marrying her then?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. Mr Kochanski, Krissie’s father, he was incredibly good to me. He took me in when I had nobody; without him, I don’t know where I would have gone, or what I would have done. It’s thanks to him I was able to go to school and make something of myself.”

The Count steepled his long fingers under his chin as he responded, “So you feel a sense of obligation towards him and his family?”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Lister said as he sighed. “When he died, he told me to take care of Krissie for him, and he even gave me his late wife’s wedding ring. He made his wishes quite clear. Both me and Krissie felt like we had to get married because it’s what he would have wanted.”

Suddenly desperate for a cigarette, Lister reached back into his coat pocket. “I’m sorry,” he muttered between his lips as he lit one up. “I’ve actually never talked to anyone about this before.”

“Not even your fiancée?”

Lister shook his head. “I suppose I’m worried about letting her down, and letting Mr Kochanski down.” He took a heavy drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Did I ever tell you that I’m adopted?”

“No,” the Count replied. “I don’t think you ever did mention that.”

“Well I am. I was abandoned in a pub when I was just a baby. I was lucky that someone found me, and then my parents were willing to take me in and raise me. I owe my life to them, but then they both died in that train crash. First my birth parents didn't even want me, and then everyone who ever meant anything to me, or cared about me is gone now. My parents, my gran, and then Mr Kochanski. Krissie is the only one I’ve got left, and even though I’m not really in love with her… I guess in the end, I just don’t want to be alone again.” He waited for the Count to respond, but he remained silent as he stared back at Lister. “I suppose you can understand that?”

“What do you mean?” The Count’s brow creased in a frown as he spoke.

“I imagine you must feel lonely here sometimes, don’t you? No family left, only your servants around. Especially seeing as you’re immortal.”

The Count’s nostrils flared as he glared at Lister. “Well you’re mistaken, Mr Lister. I don’t mourn the loss of my family in the same way that you do, and I’m hardly lonely.” The Count got to his feet and stormed through the curtained doorway and out onto the balcony, his cape billowing behind him.

Undaunted, Lister followed him, pushing his way through the curtains. The Count had his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed up at the stars; his face looked even paler than usual in the moonlight. Lister finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the edge of the balcony before tossing it over. He turned to the Count and stared up at his profile. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I don’t think I am mistaken. Not one bit. I think you are lonely. I think you’re the loneliest man I’ve ever met.”

The Count scoffed in response, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Then why are you looking to leave Transylvania? Why have you kept me here for so many days and refused to talk any business with me? Why have we been chatting through the wee hours every night since I’ve been here?” Lister plunged on ahead without giving the Count any chance to respond. “And why are you sitting in here by yourself, drawing pictures of me?”

The Count’s cheeks flushed the vaguest hint of red at the mention of the portrait. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“But I did see it, and I think I finally get what’s going on. Why you don’t seem to be in any hurry to go over the paperwork and send me on my way home.”

“And what, pray tell do you think is going on, Mr Lister?” The Count’s voice quavered slightly as he spoke.

“I think that you feel something for me.” Lister crept closer to the Count, letting his hand slide across the cool stones of the ledge. “I think you’ve felt it since the day that I arrived.”

For a moment, the only sound Lister could hear was the pounding of his pulse in his ears. The Count cleared his throat before replying, “That’s ridiculous,” in a voice that was high and thin.

“Is it really?” Lister slid closer, insinuating himself between the Count and the balcony ledge. A shiver passed over the Count, but he didn’t step away. “I see how you look at me when we talk. You can’t keep your eyes off of me. And I don’t think it’s just because you’re a vampire. I think it’s more than that.”

The Count swallowed heavily as he looked into Lister’s eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I understand perfectly,” Lister said as he reached up a hand and gently stroked his thumb along the Count’s cheek. “Because I feel the same way.”

The Count suddenly pushed Lister away with the back of his arm. “No, Mr Lister. You DON’T understand.” The Count’s chest heaved as he braced himself on the edge of the balcony.

“Then try and make me understand,” Lister said as he stood firmly, refusing to recoil at the Count’s outburst.

“I can’t do this,” the Count muttered as he stared out at the black Transylvanian forest. “You need to leave the castle. I can’t be around you anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up his usually perfect curls.

“Why would you want to do that? I KNOW there’s something between us. I can feel it. Why are you trying to pretend that you can’t feel it too?”

“Because if you stay here, I know that I’m going to end up hurting you, that’s why!” The Count gripped the edge of the balcony until the tendons stood out on his hands. “I have never felt like this about anyone before, Mr Lister. Never. But from the first moment I saw you in the dining hall, I…” The Count doubled over as he wrestled with his emotions. “I wanted you.”

“I know you do! And I want you too! So why can’t we just…”

“No, Mr Lister. It’s not just that. I don’t just WANT you, I want to ... CONSUME you.” Small cracks began to form in the stone beneath the Count’s fingers as he continued. “The very sight of you, the smell of you… When you had that cut on your neck that day, when I smelled your blood, I nearly bit you right then and there. If it hadn’t been for Krytfield stopping me, who knows what would have happened.” The Count took a deep breath and his fangs glinted in the moonlight. Lister felt a pang of desperate desire as he remembered how the Count had looked up at him in his dream.

“But Krytfield’s not here now, and you haven’t hurt me.”

“But I very easily could, Mr Lister! If I don’t keep myself under control, who knows what would happen? I could end up hurting you, or killing you or ... or even worse!” He looked down at the cracking stone in alarm.

“I don’t believe that,” Lister said plainly.

“You are not a vampire, Mr Lister, and you have no idea what this feels like. I was able to control myself around you at first, but it’s been getting harder with every day that goes by. Don’t you see? You can’t stay here any longer.”

“Why?” Lister replied calmly. “Look how much time we’ve spent together already. If nothing bad’s happened yet, why do you think it will?” He reached down and slipped his own hand over the Count’s. “Every time I touch you, I feel something. It’s like electricity. And I think you feel it too.”

“Don’t do this, please. You don’t know how dangerous I am. You don’t know what I could do to you.” Lister pulled the Count’s hand up from the balcony and placed it against his own cheek. He realized his skin must feel burning hot against the Count’s. The Count trembled as Lister pressed against him.

“I know exactly what you could do to me,” Lister murmured as he laced his fingers behind the Count’s neck and began to pull him into a kiss. Suddenly the Count’s arms were around him, gripping him with breathtaking strength. The Count’s lips brushed against the skin of his neck as he growled deeply in his throat. “Oh God, yes!” Lister gasped out as he felt the press of teeth on his skin.

“No!” The Count screamed in horror as he pushed Lister away. Lister fell clumsily to the flagstone floor and watched the Count run back through the curtained doorway.

“God-smegging-damn it,” Lister grumbled as he brushed himself off and scrambled down the stairs after the Count. He heard the slam of the Count’s bedroom door and ran up to it. “Your Excellency?”

“Go away!”

“Look, I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t’ve come on so strong. I just … I couldn’t help myself. Please, would you please come out of there?”

“Are you mad?” The Count’s voice sounded oddly distorted through the thick wood of the door. “I nearly bit you, Mr Lister!”

“But you didn’t though, did you? And I’m fine! Look, can’t we just talk? I’m sorry if I was too forward, I didn’t mean to scare you away.”

“Scare ME away? You do realize that I’M the vampire here?”

“Look, I don’t care what you are! All I know is that I’ve got these feelings for you, and I know you’ve got them for me too.”

“Just go away, Mr Lister. Please!”

“But I can’t just go away, I can’t just ignore this. Please, can’t you let me in?”

“No! I’m a hideous, blood-sucking beast! Don’t you understand that I’m damned? You should go home, Mr Lister. Go home now before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you disobeying me?”

“You’re damn smegging right I am. I’m not one of your servants. You can’t just dismiss me and send me away.”

“I’m paying for your services! I can telegraph the firm and tell them that I don’t want you here!”

“Then I resign!”

“Damn it, Mr Lister! Would you please just leave me in peace!”

“No! Not until we talk about this!”

“There is nothing to talk about! Now will you please leave quietly, or do I have to summon Krytfield to remove you?” Lister glared angrily at the door as he silently contemplated whether he would be able to knock it down with a few swift kicks. Unfortunately, the wood looked irritatingly sturdy. “I MEAN it, Mr Lister!”

“FINE!” Lister shouted at the door. As frustrated as he was at the whole situation, he refused to let the overworked butler get involved. “But this is not over. We’re talking about this later, whether you like it or not.”

“Goodnight, Mr Lister.”

“Goodnight,” Lister muttered under his breath as he stomped from the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Lister stormed down the carpeted wooden staircase, taking a childish pleasure in the protesting creaks from the aged oak.

He stopped at the turn of the stairwell and tried to calm himself by gazing downwards, which proved to be a mistake.  The staircase looped never-endingly as far the eye could reach like a tightly coiled chocolate snake.

He stepped back, feeling slightly dizzy, and fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette case.  It was empty.

He let loose with the worst curses he had picked up on the streets of Liverpool, not caring if anyone was around to hear him.

 

 

A frenzied search of his suitcases brought up a solitary remaining packet of tobacco and filter papers.  How had he not noticed how few cigarettes he had left?

The thing was, he sort of had.  But it had receded into the back of his brain, unimportant next to the beer and tobacco-fuelled chatting and laughter with the Count.

He fashioned a roll-up in double-quick time and took several frantic puffs as he tried to calm down.  Fine, if the Count didn’t want him around anymore, he would go.

Ripping his clothes from the wardrobe, he began tossing them into his suitcases, his eyes stinging.

“Mr Lister, sir?”

“Go away!” Lister snapped.

Krytfield pushed the door open wider.  “I’m sorry, sir, but… Sir?!  You’re not leaving, are you?”  Without waiting for permission, he entered the room, dismay written plainly on his features.

“Yes! Maybe… I don’t know.  The Count said-”

Krytfield cut in firmly.  “Trust me, sir.  Whatever the Count may have said, he does not want you to leave.”

“What makes you so sure?” 

“I have eyes, sir.”

Lister blinked, then grinned cautiously.

“Is this about your … encounter?  The ladies did mention it to me as I was serving them their cocktails.  Something about how selfish the Count was being.  I didn’t like to ask precisely what they meant.”

Lister’s cheeks glowed warmly as he shook his head.  “No, they were just … how I realised what was going on.  That the Count’s a … a vampire.”  He shook his head, trying to get used to saying it aloud to someone other than the Count himself.

Krytfield looked mildly surprised, then relieved.  “Oh.  I see.  Are you afraid, sir?”

“No.”  Lister surprised even himself with the utter certainty in his voice.

“Then may I ask what the problem is?”

“The Count’s afraid of hurting me.”

Krytfield frowned, pondering.  “Sir, may I ask you to sleep on your decision, at least?  You can hardly leave in the middle of the night anyway.  Things may seem different in the daytime.”

Lister hesitated.  He knew the butler had a point, but…  “I’m almost out of cigarettes,” he blurted, cringing at how petty he sounded.

“Not a problem, sir.  One of the Skutters is going to market first thing tomorrow.  I can ask him to buy you some more.”

“Thank you.  But … the Count.”  Lister tailed off as the sheer number of questions in his head overwhelmed him.

“I think that talk might be best saved for tomorrow, sir.   Why don’t I bring you up a snack as you didn’t eat much dinner?  And would you like a bath after that, perhaps?”

As if on cue, Lister’s stomach rumbled.  He shrugged and gave in.

Once he had worked his way through a plate of buttery chicken sandwiches and a creamy hot chocolate, he felt decidedly better.

 

Even the appearance of Blond Toupee with the boiler device was only momentarily disconcerting.  He firmly closed and locked his bedroom door behind the ringleted Skutter, rattling it a few times for good measure, then chose a fresh bottle of bath oil from his extensive collection.

As he soaped himself and inhaled the light orangey scent, his frustration seemed to melt away.  He sighed softly and leant back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

His brain immediately pulled up an image of the Count.

He sat up straight and opened his eyes, but he could still see that handsome face.  Laughing at his stories, looking at him with open admiration.  Looking at him with raw hunger…

The blood rushed to Lister’s nether regions as his daydream continued.  The images overwhelmed him as his libido insistently took over his brain.  The Count gripping him with inhuman strength, his fangs poised at his throat…

“Oh God, yes!!!”

 

 

Lister blinked awake, disorientated.  The hazy sunlight seemed to indicate around midday.

He fished out his watch.  A quarter to two in the afternoon?  It occurred to him that he was in danger of becoming as nocturnal as the Count.  The thought was not altogether unappealing.

He was freshening up when a peremptory knock at the door made him jump.  As he had half expected, by the time he was in a fit state to peer outside whoever it was had vanished, leaving a welcome breakfast trolley behind them.  Keen to talk to Krytfield, he wolfed down its contents before heading downstairs.

 

 

The kitchens and pantry proved to be deserted.  There was no sign of Krytfield in the orchard or kitchen gardens either.

Lister meandered around the grounds, lingering once more at the edge of the forest.  If vampires really did exist, did that mean there were other … creatures lurking in its depths, waiting to pounce?  He shivered in a different way to the one which thoughts of the Count induced in him.

He eventually located the butler in the inner courtyard garden, tending to the sweetly scented shrubs and bushes.  

“Good afternoon, Mr Lister.  Why don’t you sit down?”

He seated himself on a marble bench next to one of the fountains and listened quietly to the rushing water for a few minutes, letting it soothe him.

Krytfield smiled.  “I thought that would make you feel better, sir.  Even the Countess, who was - ahem - somewhat preoccupied with formalities during her lifetime, used to enjoy sitting in this spot.”

Lister cleared his throat.  “So, er - were you upset when she was, um - slain?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, sorry.  I meant when the villagers stormed the castle and staked the whole family except … my host.”  

The butler gazed at him in confusion.  “Did His Excellency-  Ah.  Never mind.”  He tried to turn back to his pruning, but Lister leaned forward.

“Krytfield!  What happened to the Count’s family?  You were here, weren’t you?”

“Er, yes.  That is to say-”

“Spill it.  I want to hear your version of events.”

Krytfield sighed.  “You need to understand, sir, that the Count had an unusual upbringing.  To be quite honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he chose to somewhat embellish his account of the events which led to him holding the title of Count Rimmer and inheriting this place.”

“If he’s lied to me, I’m not going to leave.  Not because of that.  I just want to know the truth.”

“Sir, if I tell you everything which I know, do you promise me that you won’t do anything rash?  That you will at least stay until nightfall and give the Count a chance to explain himself?”

“I promise.”

“Some of what I have to relate isn’t pleasant, sir.  It would shock many human beings.”

The butler’s wording rang oddly to Lister.  A nagging question forced its way to the forefront of his brain.

“Hold on - you can’t be much older than the Count.  Have you been a servant here your entire life, even as a child?  Or-”

“There is no way to say this except bluntly, sir.  I’m not human.”

Lister gaped.  He glanced automatically at the sky, but the presence of an early spring sun struggling half-heartedly through rolling clouds only confirmed his instincts.

“You’re not a vampire.”

“Indeed not, sir.”  Krytfield drew himself up with a certain amount of pride.  “I am a creation.”

“A - a what?”

“As I understand it, from the first Count onwards, military prowess was a point of pride for the Rimmer family - or at least the men.  Over the centuries this preoccupation developed into a fascination with the possibilities of science and the potential for eternal life.

A few generations ago, Viktor Rimmerescu, younger brother of Count Radu, spent decades experimenting in his attempts to create the ultimate immortal warrior.  I was the final result of that.”

Lister laughed shortly.  “Oh, come on, man.  You’re having me on now.”

“I didn’t say he was entirely successful, sir.”  The butler rolled up one of his shirtsleeves and held out his arm to Lister, who stared in shock at the fine but unmistakable stitches around his elbow.

“By the time I was created, Viktor’s lengthy toils had affected his mind.  It seems likely that he somehow reversed his formulae so rather than creating a warrior, I turned out as I am.  Happy to serve others.”

“Smegging hell,” Lister said quietly.

“I didn’t actually witness this, but my understanding is that I was the final straw for him.  He burnt all his calculations and killed himself by jumping off the castle turrets.  Hence why there were no more attempts after me.  The then Count decided to put me to use as a servant and over time I was promoted to butler.  I did have the distinct advantage over the other servants of being immortal.”

“So … that part worked,” Lister said weakly.

“Indeed, sir.  I don’t really understand why, but I can’t be killed.  However, I also cannot inflict violence upon others.  I am incapable of it, even in self-defence.”

“That must have been awkward when-  Well, when whatever it was happened to the Count’s family.”

“It certainly was, sir.  But we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.  The father of our current Count - Count Haralamb - was even more preoccupied with the family tradition of going into the military than those of his predecessors whom I served under.  He himself was turned down by the Army because he was an inch below the minimum regulation height.  Ironically, he fell foul of a rule which the first Count Rimmer had helped to implement.

Furious at being denied, he Anglicised the family name from Rimmerescu to Rimmer and gave his sons English names and nannies.  However, he still wanted them to go where he had been unable to and was delighted when they all grew to be easily tall enough to go into the Army.  His three eldest sons were admitted without difficulty, but sadly Mr Arnold - as he then was - was refused.”

“Why?”  Lister heard a note of indignation in his voice as he considered the Count’s physical assets.  “He’s tall and … er…”

“Anaemia, sir.  It was on the list of reasons to reject potential recruits.”

“Anaemia?!  The Count’s anaemic?”

“I couldn’t say now, sir.  But he certainly was in life.”

Lister stared at the butler for a few moments before bursting into laughter.  “I’m sorry … that’s just too funny…”

“I believe the Count is quite aware of the irony, sir.”

Lister gave himself over to full-throated chortling before guiltily wiping his eyes and sobering up.  “Sorry.”

“Anything unpleasant which the Count may have told you about his childhood is almost certainly true.  He was a frail child without much interest in the traditional outdoor pursuits of the male side of the Rimmer family such as hunting.   His elder brothers picked up on the scornful attitude of their parents and bullied him rather badly.”

The remnants of Lister’s amusement died away.   “Bastards.”

“One of his few comforts was his interest in art.  He learnt to conceal it at an early age as Count Haralamb would never have stood for it.  I found him sketching in a disused tower room when he was a teenager and offered to help him by smuggling in painting equipment.  That was the beginning of our - well, I wouldn’t call it a friendship.  Our understanding.”

“I’m glad you were around, Krytfield.”

“I could say the same about you, sir.  The Count has had a lot more interest in existence since your arrival.”

Lister’s face lit up.  “Thank you.” 

“I suspect his fascination with you and desire to present himself in a good light may be the reason for what appears to be some fudging of the facts regarding what became of his family.”

“Just tell me, please.  I’m imagining all sorts of horrible stuff.”

“Well, after being turned down by the Army, his continued presence at the Castle was begrudgingly tolerated by his parents.  Every so often they would introduce him to a potential bride, but without success.

Count Haralamb’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic.  Even though his three eldest sons were doing reasonably well in the Army, it wasn’t enough to erase the double insult of his own rejection and that of his youngest son.  He developed an interest in the occult and built up a fairly extensive collection of books on the subject.  I thought at the time that it was just a hobby inspired by his ancestor.  I had no idea how far he would take it.”

Lister remembered the Count’s expression when asked how he had become a vampire and felt a sudden wave of nausea.  “Is - is this going where I think it is?” 

“What are you thinking, sir?”

“Did the Count’s father turn his whole family into vampires?”

Krytfield’s hesitation told him the answer before the quiet “Yes”.

“Oh God.”

“There is a little more to it than that, sir.”

“Tell me everything,” Lister replied grimly.

“Count Haralamb had been away travelling for several months when I welcomed him back to the Castle two or three decades ago.  As soon as I saw him I knew something was different, but not what.  He was paler than before and arrived under cover of darkness.  In retrospect, it’s so obvious.  But how was I to know?”

“You weren’t.”

“Thank you, sir.  It turned out that he had intentionally gone in search of vampires in the hope of finding one to sire him and eventually succeeded.  I didn’t find this out until afterwards, of course, but he was determined to turn his family into - as he saw it - immortal warriors.”

“So he just … bit them all and killed them?”

“No, sir.  There is more than one way to turn a human being into a vampire.  There is the more traditional and better known way, where a vampire drains the person’s blood and shares a little of their own before the human dies.  As long as the human has fed upon the vampire’s blood in return, they will be revived as a vampire rather than simply dying.  This can be done at once or drawn out over a period of weeks or months if the vampire is careful and the human willing.”

Lister shivered, imagining.

“But if - for whatever reason - a vampire doesn’t wish to feed upon a particular human, only to turn them, there is a more - ah - efficient method.  Consuming vampire blood is actually fatal to humans regardless of whether or not the vampire also feeds upon them.  Providing that the corpse of a human killed by drinking vampire blood - voluntarily or otherwise - isn’t left in direct sunlight or staked through the heart, they will awaken as a vampire themselves.  So all Count Haralamb had to do was to mix some of his own blood into a bottle of wine and initiate a toast at his homecoming meal.”

Lister gaped at the butler.  “What?!  He just tricked them all into becoming vampires?”

“You could put it like that, sir.  Except he actually didn’t intend to include Mr Arnold.  He wasn’t summoned to the gathering.”

Lister’s head span.  “Why is he a vampire then?”

“It seems that whilst I and some of the other servants were obeying the Count’s orders to take the Countess and their sons back to their various quarters and prepare them for their resurrection - they lost consciousness shortly after drinking the wine - Mr Arnold entered the deserted dining hall, saw the abandoned bottle of wine and helped himself in a fit of pique at having been excluded.”

Lister stared at the butler in horror as all the implications sank in.  “That’s … horrible.”

“I’m sorry, sir.  I did warn you.”

Lister nodded in acknowledgement.  “So what happened next?”

“Not what Count Haralamb had hoped for.  In his focus on the aspects of vampirism which interested him - the strength and the immortality - he hadn’t given much consideration to the drawbacks such as needing a steady supply of blood and being unable to go out in daylight.  Servants started turning up dead which naturally caused others to flee the Castle.  Mr John, Mr Frank and Mr Howard immediately resigned their commissions and spent their evenings with the local village girls.  Three of whom they decided to turn into vampires.”

Lister remembered the Count’s tale.  “So is that when the villagers stormed the Castle?”

“Not quite, sir.  They were suspicious, of course, but they had no actual proof and the Rimmer family were feared locally.  The final straw came one night when Count Haralamb - already unhappy with the results of his grand plan - discovered that the Countess had abandoned him and gone off to travel the world, accompanied by two of our young manservants.”

“Well, serve him right.”

The butler gave the slightest of nods.  “Upon finding this out, Count Haralamb took a coach down to the village and went to the inn.  This was most unlike him and I have no idea why he did so, except that by then he wasn’t quite in his right mind.  Perhaps he was looking for his sons but by then they were happy with their ladies so had stopped going down to the village. 

He proceeded to get heavily drunk and refused to leave at closing time.  When the landlord attempted to throw him out, he lost control of his vampire urges and fed on the unfortunate man, killing him.  This was in front of several witnesses.  He managed to flee to his coach and get back to the Castle.  He assumed that because he was the Count that would be the end of it.  Suffice to say, he was wrong.”

“And what was the Count doing during all this drama?  Count Arnold, I mean.”

“To be frank, sir, he barely left his quarters once he became a vampire.  It took him a long time to adjust to his new circumstances and the taste of human blood made him nauseous.  He only drank when his need overcame his revulsion.  I don’t know if it was because he was anaemic as a human, but he eventually adjusted to the taste of animal blood with various condiments added.”

“Condiments?  Wha’, like ketchup?”

“Only the special brown variety, sir.”

Lister grimaced.  “I don’t get it, though.  He definitely wants to feed on me.”

“You seem to be exceptional to him in many ways, sir.”

Lister blushed, remembering the Count’s lips on his neck.  “He’s exceptional to me too.”  He cleared his throat.  “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Oh yes.  When Count Haralamb returned home, he found that Mr John, Mr Frank and Mr Howard - who were extremely possessive of their respective mistresses-”

“Mistresses?  The Count said they were his sisters-in-law.”

“In common law, certainly, sir.  But even if any of them had harboured a desire to be legally wed, it would have been impossible.  Think about it.”

Lister thought about churches filled with crucifixes and Bibles.  “Oh, of course.”  He felt irritated with himself for not realising before.  “Sorry, go on.”

“Mr John, Mr Frank and Mr Howard had got into a fight about the ladies which had somehow resulted in them staking each other.”

Lister snorted.  “Stupid smeggers.”

“Quite, sir.  Whilst the Count was lamenting his misfortune in having ever been born and berating the inadequacies of all those around him, a small group of villagers entered the Castle, meeting little resistance from the few remaining other servants, and burst in on the Count and myself in the Grand Hall.”

“A small group?  Not an angry mob?”

“They were certainly angry, sir, but they only numbered around five or six.  Most of the locals were understandably afraid to venture to the Castle.”

Lister’s eyes widened.  “Was one of them the innkeeper’s wife, by any chance?  The lady who runs the inn to this day?”

“How on earth did you know that, sir?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

“Count Haralamb made the grave error of assuming his supernatural abilities would protect him and was in the middle of a speech to that effect when Madam Bunica fired a stake from her crossbow with deadly accuracy, killing him almost instantly.”

“Wish I’d been there to give her a round of applause.”   _No wonder she tried so hard to stop me coming here.  But the Count’s not like his father.  If he was he would have drained me the first night I was here. ___

__“I can’t disagree, sir.  Count Haralamb was certainly my least favourite Master and his obsession had all but destroyed his family.  Being unable to defend myself, I appealed to the group for mercy, which was not immediately forthcoming.  But once they had established that I was not a vampire and they could not kill me, their interest turned to the bodies of the three eldest sons and then to the whereabouts of Mr Arnold.”_ _

__“Where was he?”_ _

__“It seems he had happened upon the commotion when his brothers were fighting and hidden.  He was discovered in an anteroom.  He was petrified and begged for mercy, pointing out that he had never actually killed anyone himself and the innkeeper’s murder had been avenged.  I did my best to calm proceedings, appealing to the then village elder, Madam Bunica’s father.  I swore that the new Count had no interest in attacking humans and could happily subsist on butcher’s blood indefinitely._ _

__Madam Bunica’s father, it turned out, had a more pragmatic approach than his daughter.  We ended up around the dining table and worked out a truce.  In exchange for being allowed to continue his existence as the Count and owner of this Castle, Count Arnold agreed, firstly, never to harm anyone from the village or to allow any associates to do so.  And secondly, to pay all the taxes owed by the village to the Crown in perpetuity.”_ _

__“Really?”  Lister marvelled at the canniness of Madam Bunica’s late father._ _

__“In all honesty, sir, the arrangement benefited everyone.  The authorities would never have believed what had happened and might well have attempted to prosecute Madam Bunica for murder.  The Rimmerescus built up vast wealth over the centuries and can afford the taxes, especially considering the punitive tolls paid by the villagers over the years in order to farm and so on.”_ _

__“I see.”_ _

__“But you can see why His Excellency decided a change of scenery was in order.”_ _

__Lister blinked.  He had been so caught up in the tale that he had temporarily forgotten the situation with the Count._ _

__“One more thing, Krytfield.  Why did Count Haralamb give his wife the wine too?  I understand why he didn’t want to bite his sons - that’s literally the only thing I understand about his behaviour - but I’d have thought as a newly minted vampire, he’d want to feed on his own wife.”_ _

__Krytfield cleared his throat.  “Their relationship wasn’t the most, ahem - intimate one, sir.”_ _

__Lister mentally cursed his own nosiness.  “Oh.  Thanks, Krytfield.  You’ve given me a lot to think about.”_ _

__

__

__Lister’s intention to wait until sunset before confronting the Count evaporated as his brain digested all that he had been told.  He panted impatiently back up the creaking staircase to the Count’s suite, pushed open the double doors and made a beeline for the Count’s bedroom._ _

__“Your Excellency!”  He knocked loudly on the door.  “Wake up, Your Excellency!  I need to talk to you now!”_ _

__His shouting and hammering went unanswered.  Frustrated, he yelled: “I know the truth!  Krytfield told me everything!”_ _

__He waited.  Sure enough, after a few minutes the door was unlocked.  The Count stood in the doorway, looking annoyed and embarrassed.  “Couldn’t this have waited an hour or so, Mr Lister?”_ _

__“Why did you lie to me?”  Lister blurted, noticing as he spoke how the lining of tonight’s cape brought out the green in the Count’s eyes._ _

__“Isn’t it obvious?  Because I didn’t want you to know how pathetic I actually am.”_ _

__“You’re not pathetic!”_ _

__“What did Krytfield tell you, exactly?”_ _

__“That it wasn’t a mob who killed your family - your father was staked by the lady who runs the village inn in revenge for murdering her husband, your brothers killed each other fighting over the girls who tried to seduce me the other night and your mother isn’t actually dead but gallivanting around Europe with an entourage of attractive young men.”_ _

__The Count exhaled loudly.  “Blabbermouth.”_ _

__“Don’t blame him.  I made him tell me.”_ _

__“Well, now you know why I lied then.”_ _

__“I suppose so.  But I don’t care.  I don’t even care that you hid in an anteroom and begged the villagers to spare you.  I mean, so what?”_ _

__“Cupboard.”_ _

__“Sorry?”_ _

__“Krytfield was being tactful.  It was a cupboard in an anteroom.  I hid in there like the worm I am throughout the fighting and was discovered there afterwards.  I’ll never forget the scorn on their faces.  I’m supposed to be a powerful vampire and the new Count - and that’s how they found me.”_ _

__“I still don’t care.”_ _

__“Really?  I saw the admiration on your face when you thought I was some kind of swashbuckling hero.”_ _

__Lister flushed as his brain helpfully supplied the mental pictures the Count’s tale had conjured up in his imagination.  He couldn’t deny it._ _

__“I … I did like the idea of it, but…”  Words deserted him._ _

__“So.  I’m a monster and I’m also a worthless coward.  You deserve better, Mr Lister.  You should return to your own country and marry the delightful Miss Kochanski.”  The Count’s tone was determinedly neutral but he grimaced as though he had suddenly smelled garlic as he intoned Kristine’s name._ _

__Lister turned crimson with frustration and guilt.  “I can’t marry her now.  I didn’t realise properly until I met you, but she really is like a sister to me.  It wouldn’t be fair on her either.”_ _

__“Don’t marry her then.  But it changes nothing as far as I’m concerned.  You need to leave the Castle as soon as it can be arranged.  I will send a telegram to Mr Hollister.  Now please excuse me - there is still at least half an hour before the sun goes down.”_ _

__The Count stepped back into his bedroom and locked the door before Lister had a chance to react.   No amount of pleading, cursing or thumping on the door drew any further response from him._ _

__

__

__Lister ran through the ancient corridors, past caring what anyone who saw him might think.  He flung open the first outside door he came across and rushed out into the slowly gathering dusk, the tears in his eyes blurring his view of the now charcoal grey clouds above.  A rumble of thunder resounded ominously in the moist air as he raced towards the gardens._ _


	10. Chapter 10

“Your Excellency, sir? What is going on?"

“Nothing’s going on. Go away, Krytfield!” The Count’s voice sounded quavery, but it might have been a trick of the locked wooden door that stood stubbornly between him and the butler.

“I could hear Mr Lister yelling. What’s happened?”

“I already told you, nothing happened! Now please leave me in peace!”

“Forgive my impertinence, sir. But I am not going to leave. What did you say to Mr Lister? And why was he shouting so?”

There was a pause before the Count replied weakly, “I told him to leave, and go back to England.”

“You WHAT?” Krytfield’s voice went up a full octave as he angrily grabbed at the doorknob and rattled it. “You open that door this instant, Your Excellency!”

“Or you’ll what? You can’t tell me what to do. I’m the Count!”

“Oh really? Well if you don’t open this door right now, I shall resign!”

“What?! You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh wouldn’t I? I’d like to see you find another servant willing to keep house for a bunch of vampires. I’m sure you’ll have an easy time getting people to answer to THAT advert! ‘Nocturnal Count seeks butler well-versed in concocting blood cocktails and waiting on the undead!’”

“I can’t believe you!” the Count grumbled from behind the door as he loudly unlatched it and pulled it open.

Although Krytfield and the Count were roughly the same height, the butler still managed to give the impression that he was looking down on his employer as he crossed his arms over his chest and got a stern look on his face. “Now, WHY do you keep trying to get Mr Lister to leave?”

The Count squirmed under Krytfield’s gaze as he wiped at his damp eyes. “He can’t stay here any longer. I’m going to end up hurting him, or even worse.”

Krytfield did his best to suppress a sigh and a rolling of the eyes. “Don’t you think you’re possibly being just a TOUCH dramatic, Your Excellency? I mean, Mr Lister has been here for several days now, and apart from that one instance of weakness on your part, he’s been just fine.”

“Moment of weakness?! I could have killed him, Krytfield!” The Count’s nostrils flared in frustration as he began to pace nervously back and forth. “How could I live with myself if I ever hurt him?”

“Well for all intents and purposes, Your Excellency, you are already dead. Living with yourself isn’t really an option.”

The Count mashed his lips together in irritation. “Thank you for the reminder, Krytfield.” He groaned as he reached up to his hair and clutched at a handful of stiff curls. “It’s your own damned fault you know? You’re the one who had to go and blab the whole story about what really happened. How can I ever look him in the eye again?”

“Your Excellency, would you please sit down for a moment? You’re getting very agitated and it might help to calm you.” The Count sighed as he fell into the cushioned seat of a nearby easy chair and hung his head between his knees. “There now, doesn’t that feel better?”

“No it damned well doesn’t,” the Count muttered at the floor.

Since the Count’s gaze was directed downwards, Krytfield unleashed the largest roll of his eyes he could manage. “Your Excellency, think of Mr Lister. If you send him home now, he’s likely to lose his job.”

The Count raised his head at that, his heavily-lacquered curls shining in the candlelight. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Not to mention that Mr Lister doesn’t wish to leave. Don’t you think it’s unfair to not take his feelings into account?”

“Mr Lister doesn’t know what’s good for him,” the Count responded glumly.

“Don’t you think it’s best to let Mr Lister decide for himself what’s good for him? He seems like a reasonable man, Your Excellency. And perfectly capable of looking out for himself. In fact, I actually find him quite remarkable.”

The Count snorted. “The way you go on about him, you sound as if you’re in love with him.”

“I am not, Your Excellency. But I suspect that you might be.”

The barest hint of a flush of red began to show around the Count’s collar as he squirmed in his chair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Krytfield. I’m merely… concerned for his… well-being.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” Krytfield did his best to turn his smirk into a smile. “It’s nearly time for me to sound the dinner gong. Why don’t you join us? You and Mr Lister can talk over things.”

“Fine,” the Count sighed as his shoulders drooped. “Have it your way.”

“Excellent, I’ll see you in the dining room then.” Krytfield bowed before turning and leaving.

The Count looked down at himself, checking to be sure the crease in his slacks was sharp, and his shoes brightly polished. He turned towards the enormous mirror that filled the hallway near the door, reaching up to smooth back the curls of his hair. His hands stalled as he remembered he hadn’t been able to see his reflection for decades, and he flashed the empty glass a rude gesture.

 

* * *

 

The Count was making his way down the small staircase to the dining hall when Krytfield sounded the dinner gong for the third time. Señor Gato was already seated at the table, happily helping himself to a roasted quail. Lister was nowhere to be seen.

“So where is he?” the Count asked as he adjusted the cuffs on his shirt and crossed the polished floor.

“I’ve no idea, Your Excellency. Should I sound the gong again?” Without waiting for the Count’s response, Krytfield grasped the mallet and gave the gong a spirited thump. The Count winced as the gong reverberated in his eardrums.

“Thank you, Krytfield. But perhaps we should try something else? Why don’t you ask the Skutters if they’ve seen him?” Krytfield hurried off and the Count alternated between pacing impatiently, and staring out the window at the rivulets of rain. Señor Gato smiled a toothy grin at the Count as he finished devouring his first quail and reached for his second. The Count shook his head, too preoccupied with thoughts of Lister to care about his enigmatic tailor.

Several minutes later a breathless Krytfield reported back. “They’ve not seen him anywhere, Your Excellency. I checked with both and they just shrugged.”

“Oh for god’s sake. Well, send them out to look for him! He must be somewhere! Tell them to search every room in the castle!”

“Right away, Your Excellency. You should wait here in case Mr Lister does turn up for dinner after all. I’ll check his quarters.”

The Count resumed his nervous pacing to the tune of Señor Gato’s happy rumbles and the clinks of his silver cutlery against his plate. For a moment, the Count considered shouting at him to join the search, but he knew from experience that it was pointless to ask the Señor to do anything when he was preoccupied with a meal. There was a flash of lightning in the sky and a crash of thunder as Krytfield returned.

“He’s not in his room, Your Excellency. However his clothes are still unpacked, so he must still be in the castle somewhere.”

Señor Gato suddenly pushed his chair away from the table, apparently satiated after eating three whole quails. “You should look in the tree,” he said good-naturedly as he pulled a toothpick from his pocket.

“What are you talking about?” The Count asked as he rounded on the Señor. “What tree?”

“Well, Señor Count, it’s an interesting story,” Señor Gato said as he gestured excitedly with his toothpick. “You see, I was standing by my window, trying to decide whether I should wear my mint green suit with the little flourishes of pine green, or my mauve suit with the cream trim.”

The Count’s nostrils flared in irritation, “What does any of this have to do with Mr Lister’s whereabouts?”

“I am getting to that, Your Eminence! So I was admiring myself, thinking of how good I looked, and how hard it was to decide between the two…”

“Get on with it, man!”

“Si, Señor! I have almost made my point! You see as I was looking in the mirror I realized…”

The Count clapped his hands over his face with a groan. “What did you realize?”

“I didn't want to wear the mint green suit, or the mauve suit! Mauve and mint clash with quail! I decided to wear my cream suit with the fur accents instead!”

“Señor Gato, what does any of this have to do with Mr Lister’s whereabouts?!” Krytfield shouted in irritation.

“Oh, him?” The Señor spoke casually as he began to pick delicately at his teeth. “He was outside. When I was trying to decide between the two suits, I heard some sound outside my window. I looked out…” Señor Gato mimed opening a window and peering out with his hands. “And I saw him down in the brush, crawling his way through the dicks!”

“STICKS, Señor Gato. You mean STICKS!” Krytfield muttered through the hand he’d slapped to his face.

“Si, Señor Krytfield! He was crawling his way through the sticks! Then he started to climb the tree. I thought maybe he was climbing up higher to get a better look at my suits.” The Señor grinned up at the Count.

“You mean he’s out there now? Why didn’t you damn well say something earlier?!” The Count roared as he gestured at the sheets of rain pouring down the window panes.

“No one asked me,” the Señor replied with a smile as he returned his toothpick to his pocket. “It’s not my business if Señor Lister wants to play at being a bird in a nest so that he can see my beautiful suits. Although next time, he should just use the stairs and come in through the door!”

The Count growled in his throat as he barked orders at Krytfield. “Fetch me a lantern, a hat, and my Mackintosh!” The Count looked down at his pressed trousers and shiny shoes. “And my wellies!”

“Yes, Your Excellency. Shall I come with you?”

“No, you get a fire going in Mr Lister’s room. He’s going to catch his death, being out in this.”

 

* * *

 

The Count cursed under his breath as he slogged his way through the puddles that were rapidly covering the grounds. A flash of lightning lit up the large pine tree that stood, straight and intimidating, outside the small tower that Señor Gato had made his quarters. The Count sprinted to the base and looked up, squinting against the rain as he searched for any sign of Lister.

“Mr Lister! Are you up there?” he shouted into the tree as he raised the lantern. The Count thought he heard an odd sound like a hiss. “Mr Lister?!”

“Be quiet! You’re going to scare her!” came a fierce stage whisper from several feet above the Count’s head. Another flash of lightning lit up the form of Lister, some twenty feet up in the tree, sat on a bough like an oversized owl.

“Scare who?! Get down from there this instant! You’re going to fall!”

“I’m not going to fall!” Lister hissed again. “Now be quiet! Here puss! Here puss!” The Count lifted the edge of his hat to peer up into the tree and saw a tiny grey and white kitten, sat only inches away from Lister.

“Oh for god’s sake. Are you seriously risking your neck to save a damned cat?”

“Quiet! She’s just a wee thing,” Lister pursed his lips and made kissy noises at the tiny wet creature. “Come on sweetie, come to Uncle David…”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, do you know that? You’re going to catch your death of cold out here!”

“Ha! I’ve got her!” Lister grinned in triumph as the tiny kitten scrambled into his arms. He cuddled her to his chest and began to make his way down the tree, one-handed.

“Do be careful!” the Count winced as he imagined Lister crashing to the hard ground below.

“For smeg’s sake! I’ll be fine!”

“What on earth does that even mean? ‘Smeg?’ Why do you keep using that word?”

Lister laughed as he slid down the tree, passing from limb to limb as comfortably as a monkey while cradling the kitten to him like a baby. “My gran didn’t allow swearing in the house when I was growing up, but she didn't have a problem with substituting other words for swears. For some reason ‘smeg’ just sort of stuck.” Just a few more feet separated Lister and his tiny passenger from the ground, when a sudden thunderclap roared down from the sky. The kitten let out a blood-curdling yowl and dug its needle sharp claws into the skin of Lister’s arm. “Ow! Smegging hell!” He shouted as he slipped and fell, landing awkwardly on his right ankle.

“Mr Lister!” The Count shouted as he ran forward and caught him under the arms. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” Lister pushed away from the Count as the kitten scrambled away from him and ran, mewling, to a clump of bushes where the shining yellow eyes of its mother gleamed from underneath the wet leaves. In a flash of lightning they saw the mother grab the kitten by the scruff, and disappear into the trees.

“You’re welcome!” Lister shouted sarcastically after the cat. He wiped the rain from his face and took a step towards the castle. “Oh smeg!” He shouted as a throb of pain sliced through his twisted ankle.

“Stop! You’re going to make it worse,” the Count said as he grabbed onto the sodden sleeve of Lister’s coat.

“I already told you, I’m FINE.” Lister said angrily as he grit his teeth and began to hobble towards the castle.

The Count sighed as he followed after him, “I’m sorry, Mr Lister, but you’re leaving me no choice here.” In one quick motion, he swept an arm behind Lister’s back and knees and lifted him up to his chest.

“Would you stop it?” Lister said as he half-heartedly shoved at the Count’s chest. “I’m telling you that I’m fine!”

“You’re not fine, and I’m not putting you down, so you’d damn well better just stop complaining and co-operate so we can get out of this infernal rain.”

Lister harrumphed in displeasure but allowed himself to be carried like an infant through the downpour. “What? You want to get me back to the castle as quickly as you can so that you can send me on my way back home?”

The Count screwed up his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry about that. I was probably being a bit too hasty.”

“You certainly seemed eager to be rid of me back when I was trying to talk to you,” Lister muttered in return as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Look, I said that I was sorry, all right? I’m not used to feeling this way, Mr Lister. And…” The Count averted his gaze as he ducked to carry Lister underneath a trellis, his voice lowered to a whisper. “You know that I don’t really want you to leave.”

Lister felt a rush of triumph pump through his heart at that, and he smiled smugly to himself. As they got closer to the exterior gas lamps that illuminated the castle’s entryway, Lister finally got a good look at the Count and did his best to bite back a snicker. “What on earth are you wearing?”

The Count frowned as he looked down at his mac and wellies. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr Lister, it happens to be raining outside, and it’s freezing!”

“It’s not so bad,” Lister said nonchalantly. _He does have a point though,_ Lister thought. Without the distraction of the cat, he suddenly realized that he was soaked through and chilled to the bone. A shiver ran its way through him as he instinctively pulled closer to the Count.

“You are cold!” The Count shouted as he quickened his pace. “Come on, we’ve got to get you inside.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lister muttered through chattering teeth.

“You’d better be.” The Count huffed as he kicked the heavy wooden door open with a soggy Wellington boot and carried Lister over the threshold.

Lister sighed as they were sheltered from the battering of the rain and the chill of the wind. “There, you’ve got me inside, now will you please put me down? I’m sure my ankle’s fine.”

“Not on your life, Mr Lister.” The Count spun and kicked the door closed again before heading up the staircase.

As they rounded the first landing, Lister realized that the Count seemed to have no trouble at all, even carrying him up several flights of stairs. He wasn’t short of breath, and his face seemed completely at ease, if worried, as he tried to get Lister to his bedroom as quickly as possible. “You’re acting like I don’t weigh any more than that kitten. Is that just part of being a vampire? Does it make you stronger?”

“It’s one of the few perks, yes. I’m much stronger than a normal human. That also makes me more dangerous though, Mr Lister.”

“Says the man who’s carrying me in his arms like I’m precious cargo,” Lister quipped as he slid his arms around the Count’s neck and nestled against him more. The tiniest of flushes crawled its way across the Count’s face, but it was hidden by the shadow from his hat. As they made their way down the corridor to Lister’s room, the sound of their footsteps attracted the attention of Krytfield who held his hands up in joy as he emerged through the doorway.

“Oh, Mr Lister! You’ve been found! We were all so worried about you, sir! Have you been hurt?”

“Our guest decided to play the hero and climb a tree in order to rescue a kitten.” The Count shook his head as he carried Lister the rest of the way down the corridor.

“She was stuck! She couldn’t find her mum!” Lister interrupted from his perch in the Count’s arms.

“And he fell and hurt his ankle on the way down,” the Count finished as he carried Lister through the doorway and into the room where Krytfield had a hot fire already crackling on the grate.

“Oh, sir! Shall I get you a cold compress? Do I need to send one of the Skutters to fetch a doctor?” The butler looked anxious as he peered down at Lister’s ankle.

“I’m FINE, Krytfield. I swear. His Excellency here is just being a bit of a fussbudget.”

“I’m what?!”

“Why don’t I get one of the Skutters to run you a hot bath, sir?”

“Look, I promise that I’m fine! Why don’t you take His Excellency’s wet things away? I’m sure we’ll manage just fine.” Lister dipped his head knowingly towards the door and raised an eyebrow at the butler.

“Ahhh… certainly, Mr Lister sir. Why don’t you hand those things over to me, Your Excellency?” The Count set Lister down gently on his desk chair, shrugged out of his coat and boots, and passed his hat over to Krytfield. “Please just let me know if you need anything else, sirs.”

“Thank you, Krytfield,” Lister said as he closed the door after the butler hurried out.

Lister turned back to the Count. He was standing near the fire, fussing with his wrinkled clothes as he stared at his guest. Lister stared back at him. The warm light from the fire made the Count look sinister and dangerous as it danced shadows across his skin. The Count shattered the illusion as he looked up at Lister and stuttered with nervousness. “I… suppose I’d better leave too.”

“No,” Lister said simply as he crossed over to the Count, shrugging out of his wet jacket as he went and letting it drop to the floor. “I won’t let you leave, not this time.”

“You’re… you’re not limping anymore,” The Count responded quickly, grasping at something to say.

“I told you I was fine,” Lister said as he undid the sodden knot of his tie. “I’m tougher than I look.”

The Count followed Lister’s fingers, like a spectator watching a magician, as he slipped his tie from his neck and began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“What… what are you doing?”

“Me? I’m getting out of these wet things,” Lister undid the last button of his shirt and slid his hands up the Count’s chest. “I thought maybe you could help me warm up?” He smiled as the Count shivered and rocked unsteadily on his feet.

“I… I think I had better go…”

Lister pressed a finger to the Count’s lips to silence him as he gazed up into his eyes. “Look, I know how crazy this seems, but smeg it all, because I don’t care. I know I’ve only known you for a few days, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. I feel like my whole life I’ve just been waiting to find you, and I know you feel the same way too. And I don’t care that you’re not really supposed to be the Count, and I don’t care that you were never good enough for your family, or that you were scared and hid in a cupboard, and I don’t even care that you’re a vampire, because to me, you’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

The Count looked down at Lister, dumbstruck. “Mr Lister, I…”

“Please,” Lister interrupted as he slid his hands up from the Count’s chest and around his face. “Call me David.” Without another word, he pulled the Count to him, brushing teasingly against the Count’s lips before kissing him. For a moment the Count stiffened and Lister was worried that he would pull away. He twined his fingers through the Count’s hair and pulled him closer as if to say, “Don’t you dare.” Suddenly he felt strong arms thread around his back, clutching at him desperately as the Count embraced him. _Oh yes!_ Lister’s brain screamed out in triumph as his head exploded with pleasure. _Oh god, yes!_

“Oh, David,” the Count murmured into Lister’s lips as he pulled away with a gasp.

“Oh Arn,” Lister replied as he kissed a line down the Count’s neck and let his wet shirt slide to the floor. “I hope you don’t mind that. Calling you ‘the Count’ and ‘Your Excellency’ all the time is way too formal.”

“Yes… I… I’d like that,” the Count gasped as Lister pressed his bare torso into him.

“Oh, Arn.” Lister murmured again as he gazed up at the Count, his brown eyes winking in the firelight as he leaned up to kiss him again. He caressed the Count’s lower lip with his tongue before slipping it in, moaning with pleasure as he brushed it across the Count’s sharp incisors.

“Oh my god, you’ve… you’ve done this before, haven’t you?” The Count leaned against the fireplace mantle to steady himself as Lister began to undress him, pushing his jacket off and opening the buttons of his waistcoat with nimble fingers.

“Well,” Lister said coyly as he pushed the Count’s waistcoat off of his firm shoulders, and started to undo his collar. “Never with a vampire before, but no it’s not my first time around the block. I am a cheeky lad from Liverpool after all.”

“But I… but I thought…” The Count licked at his lips and moaned as Lister continued to undress him. “I thought vampires only liked the blood of virgins.”

Lister let a small chuckle escape as he made quick work of the buttons on the Count’s shirt. “Sorry, but you’re a bit late for that.” He slipped the Count’s starched shirt from his shoulders and pressed their chests together, astonished by the coolness of the Count’s skin compared to the contrasting heat from the fire. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. It’s just...” The Count’s eyes were filled with anxiety as they looked down at Lister.

“What? You don’t have to be scared of me,” Lister soothed as he ran his hands along the Count’s back.

“It’s not that. It’s just I…” The Count let loose a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?” Lister asked as he looked incredulously at the handsome, well-muscled vampire he held in his arms.

“Really,” the Count answered plainly, shame clearly etched on his pale features as he turned away. “I know, it’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.”

“No, Arn.” Lister whispered as he turned the Count’s head back to face him and looked into his eyes. “I don’t think you’re pathetic. Not at all. And we can go as slowly as you want. I don’t mind. In fact...” Lister trailed off as he began to kiss at the hollow at the base of the Count’s throat. “I kind of like it…”

“Oh, David, oh…” The Count suddenly snapped his head down as he realized Lister was undoing his trousers. “Oh… Oh my word!” The Count’s eyes swelled to the size of saucers as Lister’s pants dropped to the floor.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Lister purred up at the Count as he pressed himself into the silky folds of his trousers. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” He slipped his hands down to the Count’s belt buckle, hesitating as he waited for a reaction.

“Don’t stop,” the Count begged as he threw his head back and shook it firmly. “Please, whatever you do, don’t… don’t stop.” Elated, Lister pulled the Count down into a firm kiss as he whipped his belt off with a snap letting the well-pressed trousers fall into a wrinkled heap.

“Come with me to the bed,” Lister took the Count by a cool hand as he stretched across the soft quilt. The Count followed and Lister guided him, relishing the chilly feel of the Count’s naked skin as he slid across him.

“Oh, David,” the Count hissed as he felt the heat of Lister’s living body sizzle into him. “I can’t… I can’t take much more of this.”

“Does it feel good?” Lister asked as he nuzzled at the Count’s neck.

“It feels incredible. Oh God!” The Count shivered as Lister pressed into him and nibbled at the pale skin of his throat. “I feel like I’m on fire. I can hardly see straight. I want you so much, David.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as Lister continued to kiss him. “So very much.”

“Go on then,” Lister said coolly as he turned his head, baring his neck. “I want you to.” The Count groaned as he stared at the barely perceptible veins branching out under Lister’s brown skin.

“Are you absolutely sure?” The Count looked petrified as he braced himself on his palms and looked down at the man offering himself up, with no fear at all. “What if I can’t stop myself?”

“I trust you, Arn.” He laced his fingers through the Count’s as he smiled up at him. “I know you won’t hurt me. Now go on.” Lister licked at his lips in anticipation and the Count mirrored his action as he leaned in, sending a shiver of cool breath across Lister’s neck. He took Lister into his arms,  pressing him into the quilt as he looked over him. “Oh god,” Lister trembled and closed his eyes as he felt cool lips ghosting over his skin, tracing the lines of his veins like a finger on a map. “Oh god yes, Arn!”

A kind of mad ecstasy overtook Lister as he felt the first sharp pricks of the Count’s fangs in his neck. There was pain, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming want and desire that pulsed through every inch of his body. The Count gripped him with a tenderness that belied his incredible strength as he sank his teeth in deeper and began to drink. Lister moaned as he allowed himself to wallow in the sensations: the Count’s nude body pressing against every bit of him, the cool hands that kneaded gently at his skin like the paws of a suckling kitten, the soft lips that kissed against his throat.

More strong than any of the physical sensations, was the mental high that Lister was getting, knowing that his blood was feeding the Count. This strong and beautiful man needed Lister in a very real and physical way. The thought made him feel strangely powerful, and painfully turned on. _Oh god,_ Lister thought to himself. _I’ve got to stop him though, he can’t have too much._

“Arn, you should probably stop.” Lister caressed the skin of the Count’s back tenderly. “Arn?”

The Count growled deep in his throat as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away from Lister’s neck. Lister gasped as the cool air prickled against his open wound. “Oh god,” the Count murmured as he looked down at Lister, a trickle of blood tracing a line down his chin. “Look what I’ve done to you.”

“Oh stop, it’s fine.” Lister replied casually. “Just pass me a handkerchief will you? There’s one on the table there.” Lister took the square of cloth from the Count and pressed it to his neck.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No more than a scratch,” Lister said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “C’mere you,” he said happily as he pulled the Count to him and cuddled into his side. “You feel warmer now, your skin and everything.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Lister sighed happily as he trailed his fingers along the pale skin of the Count’s arms.

“And you’re sure you’re alright?” The Count gripped Lister by the shoulders and looked at him gravely.

Lister smiled at him wistfully, “I’m fantastic. But…”

“But…? But what?” The Count got a panicked look on his face.

“But...” Lister pulled the Count down into a kiss, enjoying the coppery taste of his own blood on the Count’s lips. He grinned as he pushed the Count down to the bed and climbed on top of him. “It’s my turn to have some fun now.”

“Oh, I see,” the Count’s sigh of relief quickly turned to a gasp of pleasure as Lister kissed his way down his chest. “OH, I SEE!”


	11. Chapter 11

Lister woke with a start, his sleep-fogged brain lagging behind his body.  "Wha'?!"  He blinked in confusion at the man dabbing at his neck with a damp cloth.

"Apologies, sir.  The Count insisted I come and attend to you."

Lister's cheeks grew hot as he remembered that he was naked beneath the quilt.  He pulled it further up his chest as the butler gently tilted his neck to one side and applied something which smelt like alcohol and stung the round puncture marks.  "Ow!"

"Sorry, sir.  Just to prevent infection."  Krytfield attached a small bandage to Lister's neck and released him.

Lister felt a little weak, but the pulse he could feel in his wrist was as steady as ever.  "Krytfield?"

"Sir?"

“Where’s the Count?  It’s nowhere near sunrise.”

“He’s in his quarters, sir.  If I may be so bold, I would suggest giving him a little time to think about … well, about what obviously happened between the two of you.”

Lister wanted to go straight to the Count’s quarters and kiss his anxiety away, but he knew the butler’s suggestion was a sensible one.  Maybe he should give the man some space to process what must have been as revelatory an experience in one way as it had been for Lister in another.

"How much blood would he have had to take to..."  He tailed off.  For some reason he felt embarrassed to say it in front of anyone but the Count, illogical though that was.

"Well, how much did he take, sir?”

“I don’t know!”  Lister blushed.  “He only drank for a few minutes.”

“Well, no wonder you seem relatively unaffected, sir.  I don’t know exactly how long a vampire would need to drink to bring a human to the point where they must either die or be turned, as obviously it depends on various factors.  But the Count seems to have been quite restrained and the bite mark is neat rather than ragged, so you should be fine once you’ve eaten.”

"Oh.  I see."

"Would you like dinner in bed, sir?"

Suddenly starving, he accepted eagerly.

 

 

Two competing thoughts buzzed around his brain as he waited.  On the one hand, the fact that the Count had been so controlled and careful touched him.  But he was unable to stop himself from wondering what he would be like freed from restraint.  Freed from the need to restrain himself.

His thoughts began to drift towards the events of earlier.  The urgency of their kisses, his hand clutching at Arn's curls-

A sharp rat-a-tat at the door dumped ice-cold water on his libido.  "C-come in!" he faltered, making doubly sure that he was fully covered.

Krytfield pushed open the door and wheeled in a trolley with a covered dish, cutlery, napkins and a glass of beer.

“Brutal!” Lister exclaimed as the lid was lifted to reveal a steak surrounded by dauphinoise potatoes and mountains of spinach.  “I was expecting cold leftovers.”

“The Count insisted on a hot dinner, sir.  I think he thought that leftovers would be rather gauche.  I used to give him iron-rich meals during his lifetime so this is no trouble for me.”

Lister hadn’t considered that aspect, but any objections he might have had to being treated like a patient melted away as the mouthwatering aroma hit his nostrils.  He started to tuck in happily, noticing that the resourceful butler had used rosemary in place of the more usual garlic to season the potatoes.

“This is amazing, Krytfield,” he muttered between forkfuls.

“Thank you, sir.”

“D’you ever miss using garlic around the Castle?”

“Not particularly, sir.  There are so many other ways to add flavour to food which don’t upset the Count and are somewhat less … overpowering.”

“I’m not bothered either,” Lister reassured him.  “I can take or leave it, really.”  He turned his attention back to his food, demolishing the pile in no time.  He vaguely wondered whether his appetite was partly down to his earlier loss of blood as he drained the last of his beer.

“Do you think the Count’s had long enough now?  I need to talk to him again before tomorrow night.”

“It’s not really my place to say, sir.  But I understand your feelings, as far as I am able.   Perhaps it would be better not to let him fret too much.”

Lister checked his watch.  Still a while to go before sunrise.

 

 

He washed quickly and dressed himself again in dry clothes, checking his reflection in the dressing table mirror.  He looked a little excited and bright-eyed but otherwise perfectly normal.  

Unable to resist a reminder, he peeled back the bandage and scrutinised his neck.  The fang marks were healing well, but seeing the evidence of the Count’s raw need for him gave him a sharp, guilty thrill.

After further consideration, he selected his favourite pinstriped waistcoat, buttoning it so it framed his figure becomingly.  He eyed his open-necked shirt and the fully visible bandage at his throat.

He shrugged.  Who in this Castle would actually be shocked, or even raise an eyebrow?

 

 

He found the Count on the balcony of his tower studio, gazing out into the night.  The storm clouds had dispersed to leave a velvety dark blue sky strewn with stars.

“Mr Lister.”  He didn’t turn around to look at Lister.  His tone was flat.

“It’s David now, remember?”

The Count sighed dramatically.  “I’m no good for you, Mr Lister.  I’m a failure and a fraud.  I shouldn’t be the Count; I shouldn’t even be a vampire.  Did Krytfield tell you about that priceless piece of idiocy on my part?”

Lister hesitated.  “Er … yes.  But look, we’ve all done daft things.”

“I think that qualifies as a little more serious than “daft”, don’t you?”

“Come on, Arn.  How the smeg could you have known that your mad Dad had put his own blood into a bottle of wine in order to turn his whole family into vampires?!”  

Silence, then the Count said quietly: “Not his whole family.”

Acting on instinct, Lister sidled up behind the Count and hugged him.  The vampire stiffened but didn’t pull away.

He wanted to kiss him, but he couldn’t reach.  Instead he ran his fingers through the Count’s curls, which were still tousled from their earlier lovemaking, and ruffled them still further.  The Count shivered.

“Come on, Arn.  Look at me.”

He released his grip on the Count’s waist and waited until the man turned to face him, his pale cheeks slightly flushed.

“We’re not all that different, you know.  In some ways.”

“What do you mean, Mr- David?”

“We both want someone to love.  Someone who loves us back in the same way.”

He was expecting a denial, but the Count simply sighed again.

“With me, it’s because the people I love keep leaving me.  I know it’s not their faults but … I’m so sick of everyone I love dying.”

“I never had that problem,” the Count said quietly.  “I can’t really imagine how I would feel if I’d lost a loving family.”

“That’s why I’m claustrophobic.  Because of what happened when my parents were killed.”

“What happened?”

“I was eight.  We were going on a train to visit Gran in the countryside and I was so excited.  It was the first time I’d ever been on a train and everything was so much fun.  Until it crashed.”

Lister unconsciously clenched his fingers as he continued.  “I remember a horrible noise and a massive jolt, then nothing for a while.  I must’ve been knocked out.

When I woke up, everything was dark and I couldn’t get out.  I panicked and screamed for what felt like ages.  Eventually I was found by one of the rescuers, sobbing and hysterical.  I wasn’t badly hurt as - I found out afterwards - I’d been flung against the softest part of the carriage and shielded from the worst of the impact.  But Mum and Dad had both been killed.

I’ll never forget Gran’s face when she told me.   I must have cried all night.  After that, I started getting nightmares about not being able to get out of small, enclosed spaces.  I didn’t realise it had a name until I was grown up.

The train crash did make a great story for me new country friends.  I told it a lot, making it more dramatic every time.  It helped to … distance me from it, y’know?”  Lister gulped, suddenly realising he was choking back tears.

He ran his fingers over suddenly damp cheeks, embarrassed, then let out a startled squeak as cool, strong arms embraced him.  The floodgates opened and he found himself sobbing in the Count’s arms, his back being patted awkwardly.

He cried his heart out, clinging to the Count.  Eventually he raised his head and met concerned hazel eyes.  “David, I-”

“Shush.”  He silenced the Count with his lips.  The faintest glimmer of light appeared on the horizon as they kissed passionately.

 

 

Back in the Count’s sitting room, they cuddled on the settee.  The Count suddenly pulled back from Lister.  “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”  Lister mumbled, not wanting to think about anything but the man whose limbs were loosely entwined with his.

“Well, everything.  Your fiancée.  My arrangement with the firm; my move to England.”

Guilt stabbed Lister and he moved off the Count’s lap.  “I suppose I need to write to Krissie.  Or should I wait until I’m back home and tell her face-to-face?”

“You need to write to her,” was the firm reply.  “Because you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

They lost themselves in another kiss, Lister burying one hand in the Count’s curls and feeling them spring beneath his fingers.  Each touch between them reinforced the truth of the Count’s words.

The Count reluctantly disengaged himself.  “So you’ll write to her then?”

“Yes,” Lister said quickly.  “Just not this minute.  I need time to think about what to say.”  He leant back into the Count, lightly caressing his hair until their lips met once more.

Lister sighed happily.  “You’re going to love Le Nain Rouge, y’know.  I’ve seen it - it’s just outside London.  Near enough to all the sights but quiet enough that the neighbours won’t care that you only come out at night.”  He grinned cheekily.

The Count hesitated.  “I want a spacious, elegant residence.  I’m a Count, after all.”

“Snob,” Lister teased, softening the word by feathering his lips against the vampire’s. “It’s spacious and elegant, trust me.  Nowhere near as big as the Castle, but that’s what you want to get away from, isn’t it?”

“True,” the Count acknowledged.  His arms tightened around Lister as he moved back onto his lap.

“There’re plenty of fancy staircases for you to make grand entrances.”

The Count snorted.  “Don’t pretend you weren’t attracted to me when I first did that.”

“Who’s pretending?  I couldn’t take me eyes off you.  You were the most beautiful bloke I’d ever seen.”

The Count kissed him.  “Moi aussi.”

“Wha’?”

“Never mind, just kiss me.”

The Count eventually broke the companionable silence with a sigh.  “I’m afraid I need to retire.  The sun is up.”

“Do you have to?  I mean, vampires can stay up during the day if they avoid the sun, can’t they?”

“Technically, yes.  But it makes me very uncomfortable, not to mention tired.  The night is my natural time.”

“It could be mine too,” came the quiet reply.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.  Would you really be happy never to see the sun again?”

“I … don’t know.”  The thought didn’t fill him with joy, but neither did it horrify him.

The Count gently eased Lister off his lap and got to his feet.  “Goodnight, David.”

“Hold on.  I want to stay with you.”  Lister jumped up and headed eagerly into the Count’s bedchamber before he could protest.

“David!”  The Count followed him in, exasperated.  “You really can’t.”

But Lister was already pushing aside the double ring of curtains surrounding the Count’s luxurious coffin.  “Come on, this thing’s big enough for two.”

At the Count’s expression, he sobered.  “I trust you, you know.”

The Count took Lister’s hands in his and kissed him lightly.  “Thank you, David.  But I’m not sure I trust myself.  And even leaving all that aside, this coffin was designed for one person, as they generally are.”

Lister watched as the Count climbed into the coffin with the grace of long limbs and practice.  As the vampire reached for the lid, he stepped forward and grabbed it.

“Come on, we can do this if we don’t pull the lid over.  I mean, there are no windows in here, you’ve got all these fancy curtains, the door’s locked.  You’ll be fine.”

Ignoring the Count’s protests, he clambered determinedly into the coffin, arranging himself awkwardly half over the Count’s body, manoeuvring until his head was nestled beneath the Count’s chin.

They lay in silence for a while, limbs squashed together like sardines.

“David…”

Lister sighed in defeat.  “Alright, I suppose you’re right.”  He sat up reluctantly, then leant back down to bestow a quick kiss on the Count’s forehead before clumsily scrambling back out.

“Goodnight, David.”  The Count’s tone was equal parts affection and weariness.

Lister was already considering how to persuade the Count to try sleeping in a bed, but decided to keep that thought to himself for the time being.

“Goodnight, Arn.”


	12. Chapter 12

“But it’s been almost two months, and I haven’t heard anything from him. No telegrams, no letters. Not since he sent me this.” Kristine Kochanski held out an envelope across the heavy oak desk. It was the same letter that Lister had passed along to Krytfield just a few days after his arrival at Castle Rimmer.

Mr Hollister looked up at Kristine from where he sat behind the desk. He ignored the letter in her hand as he gave her a disingenuous smile. “Miss Kochanski, I really appreciate that you made the long trip all the way from Liverpool to voice your concerns about Mr Lister, but I assure you that there’s nothing to worry about.”

Kristine fumed as she paced the heavy wooden floorboards of Hollister’s cluttered office. She had just known that her concerns about Lister were going to be ignored. She was beginning to regret that she'd ever bothered to stop by the firm. “What exactly makes you think that there’s nothing to worry about? Mr Lister has never gone this long without writing. I’m certain that something must have gone wrong. This isn’t at all like him.”

“He’s on his first big solo excursion to meet an overseas client. Sometimes these things take time, especially when you’re dealing with well-to-do clients who might require a little more wining and dining.”

“Then why hasn’t he written to say that it’s taking longer?” Kristine flung the letter angrily to the desk where it joined the haphazard stacks of documents and greasy newspapers from the corner chip shop. Her blood boiled to see the mess her father’s former office had become since Hollister had taken over as head partner.

“He’s probably just too busy and hasn't had time to write. Things like this happen all the time when people have to travel. New country, new customs, it can be very overwhelming.” Hollister hoisted his heavy bulk out of his chair and walked over to Kristine. He took her hand in his and she grimaced at the thick sausage-like feeling of his fingers. “Miss Kochanski… Kristine… is this maybe about something else? Maybe some pre-wedding jitters? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, I’m sure every lady gets them.”

Kristine snatched her hand out of Hollister’s meaty grasp in irritation. “I assure you, it is NOT wedding jitters. We haven’t even set a date for the wedding. It wouldn’t feel right having such an affair so soon after my father’s death. What I am, is concerned for Mr Lister’s well-being. And quite frankly, I’m appalled by your lack of concern. Sir.” Kristine tagged on the honorific after a pointedly lengthy delay.

“Miss Kochanski,” Hollister said with a marked edge of irritation to his voice. “I understand that you’re worried. It’s part of your womanly nature, I know that you can’t help it.”

“My womanly…”

Hollister continued, his words steamrolling over the now apoplectic Kochanski. “But I have years of experience, and I know what I’m talking about with this stuff. I assure you there’s nothing to worry about. Mr Lister is just fine. Now why don’t you go on, and maybe stop off at the beauty parlor or do some shopping before you head home? Something to take your mind off Mr Lister while the men handle the business end of things.” Hollister slapped a smarmy smile on his face while he slipped his hand around her elbow and ushered her towards the exit.

Kristine yanked her arm out of Hollister’s grip as he opened the door. She was so incensed, she couldn’t even speak as she mashed her lips together and grabbed her hat from the nearby rack. She jammed it on her head as she stomped her way through the door of the solicitors’ office and shouted, “Good DAY, Mr Hollister!” over her shoulder.

She wanted to scream as the door closed behind her, but instead contented herself with angrily stomping her way down Fleet Street. As a woman, she was of course accustomed to being condescended to, especially by men, but Mr Hollister was particularly infuriating as far as male specimens went. After stamping her way down a few blocks, and causing several satisfying grunts of discomfort from passing gentlemen with a few well-placed elbows, she started to feel a bit better.

_I know there’s something wrong. I just know there is. What if he’s hurt? Or worse? My father would never forgive me if I didn’t do something to try and help._ Kristine looked up into the overcast sky and sighed as she pondered what to do. As her eyes dropped from the dreary cloud cover, they glanced upon some gold embossed letters set in a field of black painted wood that read: Thos Cook & Son.

_Well, if I can’t expect the firm to look after David, I’ll just have to do it myself._ She squared her shoulders as she opened the door to a tinkling of overhead bells.

 

* * *

 

“You look so handsome in the moonlight, did you know that?”

The Count didn’t respond, but only raised an eyebrow at Lister as he stared down at the head nestled in his lap.

“What? I’m serious. The way it shines on your hair and everything, and the color it gives your skin…” Lister reached up a hand and entwined his fingers in the Count’s curls. “You’re beautiful.”

“And do you know what you are?”

“What’s that?”

“Soppy,” The Count only managed to keep a straight face for a few seconds before a smirk appeared at the edge of his lips.

“Me, soppy? And who was it who wanted to take a romantic stroll out in the garden tonight? Eh?” Lister gestured around at ornamental hedges and night-blooming flowers that decorated the grassy hill where they cuddled.

“That was simply because I wanted some fresh air. It gets stuffy being cooped up in that castle all day.”

“Mmm hmm, and I suppose that’s why you asked Krytfield to line all the paths with candles?”

“I was merely concerned for your well-being. I wouldn’t want you to trip.”

“Just shut up and kiss me, will you?” Lister grinned as he grabbed onto the Count’s cravat and attempted to pull his head down.

“My spine doesn’t bend like that, David.” Lister grumbled as the Count’s lips stopped still inches away from his. He straightened up and climbed into the Count’s lap.

“How about this, then? Can your spine manage this?” He pulled the Count to him and kissed him gently. The Count sighed happily as he wrapped his arms around Lister.

“Yes, I think I can manage this just fine.”

As they kissed, they slowly slumped to the ground until they were both lying entangled in the grass. Lister shifted until he was on top of the Count and they slowly rolled down the shallow bank, settling near the base of a shrub in a flurry of lazily wandering limbs. As they broke apart from the kiss with a contented sigh, Lister began to pluck stray blades of grass from the Count’s clothes. “Let's head back inside,” he whispered with a wicked grin.

“What? Already? We’ve only just come out here.”

“Aww c’mon, Arn. I’m a fit young man. You've got to humor me my appetites.”

“And I’m an old codger of a vampire, you’ve got to humor me my shortcomings.”

“I don’t think I could ever call them SHORTcomings,” Lister managed to plant a quick kiss on the Count's lips before he had to pull away and laugh up at the starry sky.

The Count shook his head as he flopped onto his back. “You are incorrigible, David. Simply incorrigible.”

“Want me to show you just how incorrigible I can be?” Lister clambered back on top of the Count. “We COULD stay right here. This grass here kind of feels right at home.” Lister waggled his eyebrows at the Count before leaning in to playfully nip at his neck.

“My God… you’re serious too, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Lister replied as he pressed his hips into the Count's.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, David. Let’s go inside, Krytfield could come pottering out at any moment to fuss with the candles!” The Count pushed himself up on his elbows and Lister gleefully climbed off of him.

“I knew you’d see it my way eventually,” Lister smiled as he stood, and helped pull the Count to his feet. “So what do you say, darling? My place or yours?”

* * *

 

“Oh smeg,” Lister sighed as he rolled off of the Count and flopped to the bed beside him. “That was fantastic.”

“Mmmm,” was all the Count could manage as he lay beside Lister in a blissful daze.

“I’m glad we decided on your place. I’m telling you,” Lister said as he fumbled in the pocket of his discarded jacket for his cigarettes and matches. “Bringing this massive bed in here was a cracker of an idea. No real sense sleeping in a coffin when there aren’t even any windows in the room.”

The Count snorted, “Are you ever going to stop patting yourself on the back for that? Yes, I’ll admit it, sleeping in a bed is far nicer than the coffin.”

“Much better sex too,” Lister replied with a smirk.

The Count flushed the slightest shade of pink at Lister’s comment. “You certainly have a one track mind, don’t you?”

“Aww, I can’t help it, Arn. I’m just so happy right now, being here with you.” Lister smiled as he took a large drag of his cigarette.

The Count watched like a man hypnotized as tendrils of smoke slithered like snakes from Lister’s lips. “I really wish you wouldn’t smoke in here you know. The smell clings to the curtains.”

“Stop pretending that you don’t love it,” Lister quipped as he prodded the Count’s naked shoulder.

“Well, maybe I enjoy watching YOU smoke. But I could do without the smelly curtains.”

“Why d’you have to always do that?”

“Always do what?”

“Derail my romantic talk by finding something to complain about.” Lister put out his cigarette then rolled on top of the Count. He spread his hands on the vampire’s chest and rested his chin on them. “I was just saying how happy I was, and you go and complain about the smegging curtains.”

The Count sighed as he wrapped his arms around Lister. “Defense mechanism I suppose.”

“Defending yourself against what, exactly? Me?” Lister pressed a kiss to the bottom of the Count’s chin. “You know how I feel about you.”

The Count pulled Lister closer to him, resting his chin on the man’s tightly wound curls. “I suppose there’s a part of me that’s still afraid that I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.”

“Would a dream leave you with curtains that smelled of smoke?” Lister snorted into the Count’s chest.

“You have got a point there. It’s just all very strange. Part of the reason I wanted to get out of this castle was in the hopes that perhaps I’d meet somebody. I never expected that somebody to show up on my doorstep.”

“Must have been fate, bringing us together.”

“It does feel something like that,” the Count said as he nuzzled at Lister’s curls.

“So when do you think you’ll move to the new place?”

“Well I suppose that all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

Lister rolled off of the Count and propped himself up on his elbow. “On me?”

“Well, yes. You see, I was rather hoping…” The Count paused as he took a deep breath. “I was rather hoping that you might want to come with me.”

Lister’s eyes widened as a grin spread across his face. “You mean, you want me to come and live with you?”

The Count stammered as he responded. “Of course that’s only if you really want to. I know we’ve not been together long, and I am a vampire after all, so if you have any second thoughts…” The Count was silenced as Lister pounced on him, smothering him with a kiss as he entwined his fingers in the Count’s curls.

Lister pulled away breathless and rested his forehead against the Count’s. “You silly smegger. Of course I’ll come with you. I love you, Arn.” It was the first time he’d ever dared to say the words, and he was surprised by the ease with which they sprung from his lips. “I love you,” he said it again, just as easily as if he was saying the Count’s name. The Count stared back at him, his eyes shining with wetness in the candlelight.

“I love you too, David. I think I’ve always loved you, from the moment I saw you standing in the dining hall.”

“And you call me soppy,” Lister replied with a laugh as he kissed the Count again, more firmly this time. He let his hands skitter across the chilly surface of the Count’s skin as he pulled him closer. The cool sensation of the vampire’s skin always filled Lister with the mad desire to warm him. To hold him so close that all of his heat transferred over, like a cold kettle being warmed by the fire. He gasped as the vampire returned his embrace, moaning as Lister pressed his hips into him.

“Oh god, David.” The Count sighed as Lister continued to kiss and rut into him. “The things you do to me. They should be outlawed.”

“I think they just might be, in some countries.” Lister pulled the Count on top of him and guided the vampire’s lips to the hollow of his throat. He reached a hand to his neck and pulled back a bandage to reveal two relatively fresh marks.

The Count was hesitant as he looked at Lister. “Are you certain? It was only yesterday…”

“I know, but I want you to, Arn. It makes me feel close to you. Makes me feel good. Don’t you want to?”

The Count breathed heavily as the smell of Lister’s blood filled his nostrils. “Of course I want to. I always want to, but...”

“Go on then,” Lister pecked a kiss on the Count’s lips before returning his head to the pillow and exposing his bare neck to the Count. The Count took his time, lovingly tracing his fingers along the paths of veins in Lister’s neck. He moved closer inch by inch until he was nibbling and licking at Lister’s skin. “God, Arn,” Lister said as he licked at his lips. “You drive me wild, do you know that?”

“It can’t be half as wild as you make me feel. I feel like some sort of rabid beast when I’m with you.” Strong arms wound their way around Lister’s shoulders and he gasped at the anticipation just as the Count sank his teeth into his skin; carefully matching up his fangs with the existing holes to do as little damage as he could. The Count shivered with pleasure as he drank.

“Oh yes, Arn. Yes,” Lister whispered into the pillow as he felt his lover sucking in his life’s essence. He grew tingly all over as the Count enveloped him with his naked body. As always it was over far too quickly and he moaned with disappointment when he felt the Count’s now warm lips leave his throat. The Count fell to the bed beside Lister, sighing contentedly while he licked at his fangs. Lister stuck his bandage back in place, wincing only slightly at the pain. He raised himself up on an elbow and quickly regretted it as a wave of dizziness overtook him. “Oh smeg,” he muttered as he flopped back to the bed, his head swimming.

“Are you alright?” The Count stared at Lister in alarm as he reached out a hand to stroke his pale cheek.

“I’m fine,” Lister insisted as he wound a finger into the Count’s curls. “Just got a bit lightheaded just then. That’s all.”

“You’re certain I didn’t take too much?”

“I'm telling you, it's fine.” Lister smiled as he cuddled into the vampire’s side. “I wish you could’ve taken more. It feels so good. Makes me feel so connected to you.”

The Count paused in sucking the blood from his teeth to shoot Lister a serious look. “You know why I have to stop, David. It’s far too dangerous.”

“But why? I mean, if we love each other, and we want to be together, then that’s got to happen someday, right?” The Count stiffened at the shift in conversation, and Lister gave a slight eyeroll. “I just don’t see what the big deal is. I mean quite frankly, being a vampire seems pretty well… cool.”

“Cool? David, you don’t seem to understand the gravity of my… well, my condition.”

“What condition though?” Lister propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at the Count. “I mean, you’re immortal so you never have to worry about dying. You’ve got super-human strength so you never have to worry about anyone hurting you, or losing in a pub fight. You stay young forever so you never have to worry about getting old or feeble. I mean really, Arn. What’s the downside here?”

“You’re forgetting one small detail. The fact that I’m damned.”

“How do you know that for sure though? Just because that quack Von Krankheit wrote about it in his little book there? How do you even know he’s right? Y’know I read some of that book, and I don’t think Von Krankheit has got the slightest clue about vampires. He probably read some smeg in some stuffy old occult library books and decided he was some sort of an expert.”

The Count furrowed his brow as he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I suppose I never thought about that.”

“I mean sure you have to be careful about the sun, and needing to drink blood might not be the greatest thing ever, but think of all the positive things! I mean, eternal youth, Arn! Think of the massive lengths people go to, trying to keep themselves looking young. And living forever? Think of all the things we could do! All the places we could go together!”

The Count chuckled as he listened to Lister’s enthusiastic speech, “I must say, you do manage to make it sound a bit more appealing.”

“And the superhuman strength? I mean smeggin’ hell, Arn. You carried me up four flights of stairs and didn’t even break a sweat.”

“Yes, I remember you quite liking that.”

“It was one hell of a turn-on,” Lister’s eyes glazed at the memory.

“It’s not all eternal youth and super strength though you know, David. There are some things that you might not find to be particularly arousing.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

The Count sighed as he sat up in the bed. “Are you certain you really want to know?”

“Try me,” Lister replied with a grin.

“All right, I suppose you had to find out about this some day.” The Count made a rather comical face: his eyes squinched shut and his lips pursed. Suddenly Lister’s vision was obscured by a large puff of smoke.

“What the smeg!” Lister shouted instinctively. As the smoke began to clear, he saw that the Count had disappeared. “Arn!” Lister rooted around in the blankets, but they were empty. Suddenly Lister felt something fluttering near his ear. He looked up and a furry brown bat was anxiously trying to get his attention. He stared at the swooping creature for several seconds, his expression dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.” The bat hovered in mid-air and fixed Lister with as serious an expression as a bat can muster. “Is that really you?” The bat dipped its head in the tiniest of nods. “Oh my god, Arn! Look at you! With your little batty wings and your tiny furry face! You’re adorable!” Lister practically squealed with glee as a smile stretched across his face. Lister wouldn't have thought it was possible for a bat to look affronted, but somehow the Count managed it. There was another puff of smoke, just as sudden and dramatic as the last, and the Count was back on the bed, looking irritated and mildly amused.

“Adorable, David? Really?”

“You’ve never seen yourself ‘cause you’ve got no reflection. You’ve no idea how cute you look! Those big ears! Go on, do it again!” Lister laughed as he shoved the Count playfully.

“I hope that you’re aware of how completely and utterly ridiculous you are. I’m a blood-sucking abomination who can turn into a flying creature of the night, and you act like you’ve just seen a kitten wearing a hair ribbon.”

Lister pounced on the Count, wrapping his arms around him as he kissed him. “I can’t help it! It’s not my fault that you turn into the world’s cutest little bat.”

The Count shook his head in disbelief. “You are truly remarkable, David.”

“So how do you do it? Does it hurt?”

“No it doesn’t hurt. I’d hardly do it if it hurt! It’s hard to explain how though. It took me ages to figure out how to make it happen. It’s one of those things where suddenly it just clicks.”

“So,” Lister said as he rubbed his nose against the Count’s. “Aren’t you at all curious to see how cute I’d look as a bat?”

“I prefer you like this, personally.”

“Oh yeah? What about like this?” Lister lowered his hands to the Count’s backside and pulled him close, pressing their skin together.

“Mmm…” the Count murmured happily as he absorbed Lister’s warmth. “Yes, that is rather nice.”

“Or maybe like this?” Lister climbed on top of the Count, lazily playing with the sparse hairs on his chest as he straddled his thighs.

“Oh yes… Oh!” The Count gasped as Lister pressed into him. “Yes, that’s… that’s also quite nice.”

“Yeah? How about this?” Lister stretched himself out fully on top of the Count, pressing every inch of his naked skin into the vampire. He slithered until his mouth was above the Count’s and kissed him, running his tongue along the pointed fangs. He pulled away once the Count began to moan into his mouth, tugging teasingly on the vampire’s lower lip. “You like me like this too?”

“Oh god, David.” The Count pulled Lister to him, kissing him back ferociously as he slid his fingers across the man’s buttery skin. “Oh god, I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Arn.” Lister gasped as the Count’s strong arms surrounded him. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you,” he moaned as he dredged his fingers through the Count’s auburn curls. “I love you so much.”

Both man and vampire cried out in unison just as Señor Gato happened to walk by the Count’s quarters. He stared at the door as their screams of passion echoed against the wood.

“Dios mío!” he cried out as he shook his head in surprise. “I never knew that real estate could be so exciting!” He straightened out the collar of his suit as he sauntered away down the corridor.


	13. Chapter 13

Kristine stepped awkwardly from the carriage, inwardly cursing her skirts.  At least it wouldn’t be long now before she could get out of her travelling outfit and wash away the dirt of the journey.  She perspired uncomfortably as the driver dumped her cases in front of her.

“Hey!”  She stared as the man jumped straight back into the coach.  Gesturing over his shoulder in the general direction of the inn, he tugged sharply at the reins of his horses, which obediently set off again at a canter.

_No wonder he insisted on being paid in advance.  How rude. ___

____

She mopped her forehead with her handkerchief, then squared her shoulders and picked up her cases.  The distance was nothing, but the weight and heat after her long journey wore her down a little.  At least it was still light outside.

As she prepared to knock at the inn door, she reminded herself for the dozenth time of Mr Hollister’s infuriating words.   _“Now why don’t you go on, and maybe stop off at the beauty parlour or do some shopping before you head home? Something to take your mind off Mr Lister while the men handle the business end of things.” ___

____

____

“Pompous, patronising ass,” she muttered to herself, imagining the inn door was Hollister’s face as she knocked as hard as she could, wincing slightly at the impact on her knuckles.

“Cine e acolo?”

“Good evening.  I have a room booked.  Miss Kochanski.”

She blinked as a small window in the door opened almost level with her line of sight, revealing a formidable, wrinkled face.  Grey eyes appraised her.

“You are the English lady?”

“Yes.”  Surely they were unlikely to be expecting more than one Englishwoman on this particular night in deepest Transylvania.

She flinched as the tiny window slammed shut, then sighed with relief as she heard bolts and latches unfastening.  The gnarled wooden door creaked reluctantly open and she stepped thankfully into the small, cosy inn, removing her hat as she did so.

“Thank you, ma’am.  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said politely, wondering why the elderly lady was scrutinising her so keenly.

“Doamnă Bunică,” the innkeeper intoned. “You are to stay at the Castle?”

Kristine hesitated.  “Well … maybe.  I’m actually visiting someone there.”

The woman looked her up and down, considering.  “You are hungry?”

As often happens when asked that question, Kristine realised her stomach was growling in protest at how long it had been since she’d had lunch.  “Yes, starving actually.”

Doamnă Bunică pointed to a small staircase.  “Your room is at top of stairs.  You may wash.  I bring supper.”

Kristine thanked her effusively and headed gratefully to her bedroom, where she stripped off her clothes, sponged off the sweat of the midsummer day and headed back downstairs to the dining area of the inn in a fresh dress.

The pungent aroma of garlic hung heavily in the air as she seated herself at the place Doamnă Bunică had laid at one of the rectangular wooden tables.  It came not only from the kitchen, she realised as she took in her surroundings, but also from the round loaf of bread and the casserole dish on the table, and the strings of bulbs adorning every window.  Almost as numerous were the crosses and crucifixes hanging from wooden beams in the ceiling and affixed to the white stucco walls.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of a lethal looking crossbow over the fireplace, nestling amongst more bulbs of garlic.  Presumably Doamnă Bunică kept it for her own safety, since she appeared to be the sole occupant of the inn.

_Could have done with one of those on my journey. _She snorted silently to herself.  Travelling alone whilst both young and female really wasn’t that much fun.__

____

____

Doamnă Bunică reappeared, bearing a steaming tureen of soup which she laid on the table next to the small glass and round liquor bottle already in place.  She filled the glass full of the pale yellow liquid and placed it in front of Kristine.

“What is this, ma’am?”

“Țuică.  Drink up, is good for you.”

Kristine nearly spat the burning liquid straight back out again, but her manners prevailed and she managed to choke her mouthful down.  Her eyes streamed as the innkeeper headed back to the kitchen.

She regarded the small glass as she had done medicine at her boarding school as a child.  The innkeeper could have been the matron’s sister, both in looks and manner.

Taking a deep breath, she downed the rest of the țuică in one.  Her coughing fit was sharp but brief.  She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

She smiled brightly at the innkeeper’s approving look as she returned bearing an earthenware pitcher and saw the empty shot glass.  Thankfully gulping down some cold water, she began to tuck into her dinner.  It was a good thing she rather liked garlic, she reflected as she chomped her way through garlic soup and bread, followed by garlic stew and sausages.  And at least it had overwhelmed the horrible taste of the țuică.

As the edge was taken off her hunger, she remembered her manners and tried to strike up a conversation with the eccentric old lady.  “So, do you run the inn by yourself?  Is there a Mr Bunică?”

“No more,” the innkeeper replied around puffs of cigar smoke.  “He die, many years ago.”

Kristine’s cheeks flushed even more than the fiery combination of garlic and țuică was causing them to.  “I beg your pardon, ma’am.  I shouldn’t pry.”

“Do not trouble yourself, English lady.”  Doamnă Bunică’s gaze suddenly became more intense.  “Who do you visit at the Castle?”

“My fiancé, Mr Lister.”

She looked up curiously when the innkeeper didn’t answer and nearly choked on her mouthful at the woman’s expression.  “Is - is there something wrong, ma’am?”

“Mr David Lister?”  The tone of the question was almost rhetorical.

“Yes.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

“Well, that’s actually why I’m here.  He usually writes to me every week and I haven’t heard anything for two months now.  I’m worried he may be ill.”

The innkeeper leapt to her feet.  “No!  Not the sweet young English boy!”  She threw her cigar into the fireplace and began to pace the room.

“Ma’am?”  Kristine felt a sudden jolt of panic at the woman’s behaviour.  “Do you know of any reason why he might be in danger?”

Doamnă Bunică speared her with a look.  “That Castle.  The Count - he is cursed.”  She quickly crossed herself.

_Ah, superstitions. _Kristine relaxed somewhat, but the woman’s stern gaze still made her uneasy.  “Cursed by whom?”__

____

____

“By God Himself, English lady.  He is damned for eternity.”

 

 

Kristine jolted awake with a grunt as the carriage hit what felt like a rock.  She rubbed her eyes and looked around, momentarily disorientated.  She was being driven by Doamnă Bunică in a small covered cart with a rather cramped seat at the front.

The innkeeper had refused to elaborate on her dramatic pronouncement, but had insisted on driving Kristine to the Castle herself on the grounds that no-one else in the village would do so.  After a heavy breakfast of garlic bread and garlic sausages, Kristine had dozed off after a couple of hours on the road. 

They were travelling through dark green forest, sporadically brightened by shards of sunlight flashing through the gaps in the trees.  Kristine marvelled at the old lady’s steady hands on the reins after several hours.  She had the air of a woman on a mission.

_Not surprising really. _There was something about David which made you want to protect him.  His youthful appearance and friendly manner brought it out in many women and even some men, she had noticed over the last few years.__

____

____

She cast her mind back to their first meeting after Father had decided to bring him into their household - he a baby-faced thirteen-year-old, she almost fifteen and back from school for the Christmas holidays.  Her heart had gone out to him - how could it not?  His situation alone would provoke sympathy, but he had the additional advantages of intelligence and natural charm.  He had been - at first - the younger sibling she had never had.

Not that she had seen a lot of him whilst they were still children.  Only once they were both finished with their respective schools had Father allowed them to spend much time together.  And even then David had gone off to Oxford, returning only every few months prior to his graduation.  It was only then that Father’s hints about how suited they were to each other had become more persistent, sadly coinciding with the decline in his health-

Kristine blinked as the cart emerged from the cover of the trees into blazing sunshine.  She was unable to stop herself from exclaiming as she beheld the Castle for the first time perched amongst the mountains, a forbiddingly massive edifice of grey stone walls crowned with turrets and parapets, like an elaborate cake decorated by a chef for an aristocratic funeral.

“What an amazing sight!”

The innkeeper made no reply, simply urging the horses onwards up the steep, rocky path.  Kristine gulped and fixed her eyes on the Castle, determined not to make the mistake of looking down.

After what seemed like an eternity of clenching her hands tightly enough to leave half-moon shaped indentations in her palms, the cart finally clattered through the Castle entryway into a cobblestone courtyard, coming to a halt just inside the gate.

Kristine’s relief was brief.  Now that she was actually here, nerves began to rear their ugly head.  What if David had already departed for England?  Or, far worse, what if he was too ill to be moved?  Would the Count even let her see him, considering that they were yet to be married?  It had been obvious on her travels that many Romanians were deeply religious.  Not least her driver, who was sporting a heavy crucifix around her neck and had made the sign of the cross several times over the short period they had known each other.

She clambered carefully down onto the cobbles.  “Will you be coming inside with me, ma’am?”

Doamnă Bunică crossed herself.  “No, English lady.  I will wait here for you and the young English boy.  One moment.”

She reached into the covered part of the cart and withdrew several wreaths of garlic.  Stepping down, she held them out to Kristine.  “Wear these as protection.”

Kristine began to wonder if the innkeeper was playing an intricate joke on her.  “Garlic wreaths?!  With respect, ma’am, I really can’t.  What would the Count think?”

Doamnă Bunică hissed, again making the sign of the cross.  “Never mind him, English lady.”

Kristine sighed, struggling to keep her patience.  The last thing she needed was to offend the innkeeper and be left stranded here, but the thought of meeting a foreign aristocrat with garlands of pungent garlic bulbs around her neck was embarrassing, to put it mildly.

“It’s just … if the Count is offended he might not let me see David.”

The old lady frowned, considering, then unhooked the crucifix from around her own neck.  “Then you will wear this instead.”

Kristine nodded reluctantly and allowed the cross to be placed around her neck, then submitted to a crushing hug and garlic-scented kiss on her forehead.

“So you’re happy to wait for David and I?”

“I will be here, English lady.”

 

 

The massive wrought-iron knocker resounded loudly enough to wake the dead against the weathered oak doors which formed the main Castle entrance.   Kristine flinched at how peremptory it sounded.

She waited patiently, knowing that in a building so vast it was unlikely that a servant would just happen to be passing the front door at this precise moment.  The warm summer sun dappling the courtyard around her made it difficult to be too eager to step into the unknown.

By her estimate, it was between five and ten minutes before she heard the scraping sound of a bolt sliding reluctantly back and a small window opened in the door, revealing part of a face.

“Yes?”  The man’s voice seemed to Kristine to have the slightest of stutters.

“Good afternoon, sir.  I am here to visit Mr David Lister, whom I have reason to believe is currently a guest of your Master, Count Rimmer.”

The man considered this for a lot longer than she had expected.  “B-begging your pardon, ma’am, but who are you to Mr Lister?”  

“I am his fiancée, Miss Kochanski.  I imagine he may have mentioned me to the Count.”

The man gaped at her, not replying.  “He is in good health, isn’t he?  Mr Lister?  No harm has befallen him?” she asked in alarm.

“Yes, he … is in good … health,” came the extremely hesitant reply.

“Then may I please see him?”

The man began to stammer with the staccato rhythm of keyboard touches on a typewriter.  “N-no.  He - he isn’t here.”

“Then how do you know about the state of his health?”  Kristine enquired suspiciously.

“He - he left y-yesterday.  F-for England.”

Kristine fought against the sinking feeling in her stomach.  This man was undoubtedly the worst liar she had ever encountered.

“Then may I see the Count instead?”

“No!” The man sounded horrified.  “His - His Excellency is not - not at home today.  G-good day, Miss.”  The window in the door slid closed, the bolt noisily groaning back into place.

As Kristine looked around the courtyard in confusion and despair, a long-haired figure suddenly emerged from what looked like stables in the far corner, bearing a heavy looking sack.

She hitched her skirts above her ankles, ran over to the woman and followed her around the corner.  She tried to run without dropping her burden, but Kristine had the additional advantages of surprise and determination.  Haring up behind her, she grabbed the side door before it could close and found herself in a warm, cavernous kitchen.

Panting and smoothing down her dress, her mouth fell open as she took in this woman’s wig - no, this man’s frankly laughable toupee - long blond ringlets which were patently false, framing a bug-eyed, mature face in the least flattering way imaginable.

“G-good afternoon, sir.  I am here to visit Mr Lister.”  She offered a hopeful smile.

The man simply stared at her before pointing to his mouth.  It took her a moment to realise what he meant.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Can I please speak to the housekeeper or butler then?  It’s important.”

“T-that would be me, M-Miss Kochanski. I am Krytfield, the Count’s butler.”

The newcomer had another bizarre hairstyle, in this case upstanding hair which made him look as though he’d stuck his finger into an electrical socket, but was at least dressed more or less as Kristine would expect the butler of a Count to be from her limited knowledge in that area.  She was certain that he was also the bad liar who had attempted to deny her entry to the Castle, but in the interests of getting to see David she decided to let that go.

“Well, Mr Krytfield, I am here to see Mr David Lister.  I am not leaving until I have done so.”

Both men regarded her helplessly.  Deciding to suit action to word, she looked around for the nearest inner door and set off towards it.  Krytfield stuttered a few half-hearted protests before following her and falling into step beside her.

“So,” Kristine said as they emerged into a long stone corridor, “are you going to tell me where he is or do I need to search every room in this Castle?”

Krytfield huffed slightly and drew himself up.  “With respect, Miss, the Castle is huge.  I can’t know exactly where he is at this precise moment.”

_At least he’s stopped pretending David isn’t here. _“Then please take me to his room.  That would seem to be the best place to start.”__

____

____

Krytfield quirked an eyebrow.  “This way then, Miss.”

They trekked through what seemed like a mile or so of winding corridors.  Bare stone gave way to wood panelling as they moved into the grander part of the Castle.  Kristine paused in wonderment at the entrance to a vast, high-ceilinged ballroom adorned with chandeliers.

As she gazed around it, a figure appeared at the top of the elegant staircase it contained and began sliding down the looping banister with childlike abandon.  “Wheee!”

The voice was unmistakable.  Kristine ran forward as Lister slid rapidly to the bottom and landed in a heap.  “David!”

Lister looked up at her in shock.  “Krissie?!”

Kristine stared in mounting horror at her fiancé as he attempted to get to his feet.  He swayed and Kristine and Krytfield moved forward simultaneously, each offering a hand.

Looking bewildered and dizzy, Lister took both their hands and was hauled upright.

Kristine looked him up and down.  He was paler than she had ever seen him, his white shirt partially unbuttoned and revealing more than was decent.   Before she could avert her eyes she noticed a small bandage at his throat.

“David, are you ill?  What’s happened to your neck?”

David looked shifty; there was no other word for it.  “No Krissie, I’m fine.  What the smeg are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m glad you’re pleased to see me,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”  Looking guilt-stricken, he held out his arms and she embraced him.  Her relief that he seemed relatively unharmed physically was rapidly being overtaken by concern for his mental state.  She briefly wondered if he was simply drunk, but there was no alcohol on his breath.

She started as Krytfield spoke, having forgotten the butler was still there.  “Sir, Miss, m-might I suggest you adjourn to the sitting room where you can talk more comfortably?  I’ll b-bring you some tea.”

“Cheers, Krytfield.”  David’s smile at the butler was more like the man she knew than anything else he had done so far.

 

 

Kristine looked around the grandly furnished sitting room, trying to quell the growing feeling in her gut that something was just WRONG here.  The servants’ behaviour, after all, could be attributed to the whims and eccentricities of a reclusive aristocrat rubbing off on his household.  Perhaps.

Krytfield pushed in a trolley crowded with two delicate china cups, a silver teapot, small jugs of milk and tempting-looking platters of biscuits.  The butler looked almost as ill at ease as Kristine felt.  His hands shook slightly as they poured the tea, which slopped over the edge of Lister’s teacup and pooled in its saucer.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!  I’ll get another cup.”

“No, it’s fine, Krytes.  Stay.”  Lister looked at him almost pleadingly.  Seeming to understand something unspoken, the butler nodded.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as Kristine received her tea, which was far too hot to drink, and set it gingerly aside on an occasional table.

“So … is His Excellency not feeling well today?”

The looks from both Lister and the butler at this only reinforced her unease as they replied simultaneously.

“No!  He’s just busy!”

“Yes!  He has … er … influenza!”

Kristine began to feel like a schoolmistress interrogating wayward pupils. “Which is it, then?”

“Um, both.  He’s ill, but he’s still trying to do things, because he’s busy.”  Lister smiled brightly at her, but it wasn’t the genuine smile she was accustomed to.

“Are those things to do with his move to England?  Isn’t that your job?”

Lister coughed and looked embarrassed.  “So, well.  I … I suppose you’re wondering why I haven’t written.”

“Why do you think I’m here?  I was really worried that you were seriously ill.  I had to come.”

“I’m sorry.  Really sorry.  I should have written to you and explained, but…  Every time I tried, it didn’t seem fair not to tell you in person.”  Lister dropped his gaze to his lap.

“Explained why things were taking so long, you mean?  I tried talking to Mr Hollister, but he just fobbed me off.”

“He did?!  I’m sorry, I thought he’d at least pass on that the Count had changed his mind about which property he wanted to buy.  We got him to send details of others.”

“Why, that-”  Kristine finished the exclamation in her head.  “Wait, so you could write to him, but not to your fiancée?”  She couldn’t disguise the hurt and anger in her voice.

Lister clenched his hands together as he stared at the red rug beneath his feet.  “Well, you see…”

Kristine’s head span.  “Are you trying to say what I think you are, David?”

Remorseful dark eyes finally met hers.  “I’m sorry, Krissie.  I’ve smegged everything up royally.  I never imagined you’d come all the way up here.”

“Just say what you want to say, David.”  

“I - I want to break off our engagement.”

“Why?” Kristine managed to ask as a fog of angry humiliation began to envelop her.

“I thought I loved you romantically, but I don’t.  I love you as a sister.”  

A flashback to her interrupted reverie in the carriage before she had been distracted by the vision of the Castle echoed uncomfortably in Kristine’s brain.

“So,” she said weakly, “what exactly brought about this realisation?”  
Lister’s cheeks flushed.  “I … fell in love with someone else.”

Visions of a sophisticated, aristocratic lady turning David’s head flooded into her mind.  “If I may ask, who is the lucky lady?”  She was unable to keep her tone neutral and cringed internally at how bitter she sounded.

“Does it really matter?  I’m so sorry at the way things have turned out, Krissie.  But you didn’t write to me either, so I thought you couldn’t be too concerned and that Mr Hollister must have been keeping you in the picture.”

“What?!  Yes, I did!  I wrote every week.  Didn’t you get my letters?”

Krytfield, who had been hovering discreetly, coughed sharply and cleared his throat.  “Sir, Miss, if I may interrupt…”

“Must you?!”  Kristine and Lister spoke almost at the same time.

“I apologise profoundly for what I am about to say.  The Castle did receive Miss Kochanski’s letters, sir.  But I did not pass them on to you.”

Lister’s obviously real shock made him look more like her David.  “What, why not?”

“I - I didn’t want you to keep thinking about her, sir.  I could see what was happening with the Count and…”   The butler bowed his head in shame.

They both simply looked at him, not knowing what to say.  

“How dare you,” Kristine said quietly, but any anger she might have felt seemed suddenly pointless.  “Wait, what do you mean, what was happening with the Count?”

“Krissie, I know this will be hard for you to understand.  But the Count and I are in love.”

Kristine blinked.  “I don’t understand, David.”

“We fell in love, just like a man and a woman do.  It was a surprise to me too.  But I want to be with him forever.”

Kristine could feel her mouth gaping open like a fish, but no words would come.

“Buenas tardes!”  All three turned their heads to the doorway in shock as a new voice sliced through the tension in the room.

Kristine goggled at the newcomer, a slender young man wearing an exquisitely cut royal blue suit with a ruffled cream silk shirt and matching handkerchief.

Cheerfully oblivious to the atmosphere in the sitting room, he glided over to the tea trolley and selected a biscuit which disappeared in a couple of bites.  He wiped his mouth carefully with his handkerchief before advancing towards Kristine.

“Enchanted to meet you, Señorita.  Señor Gato, at your service.”

Kristine looked expectantly towards Lister, who remembered etiquette with a visible effort. “Allow me to introduce my- I mean, this is Miss Kochanski.  She is the daughter of my late mentor.”

Flushing at Lister’s amended introduction, Kristine nevertheless held out her hand to Señor Gato, who kissed it with ostentatious chivalry.

“It is truly an honour for this old Castle to be graced by the presence of such a beautiful lady!  Tell me, Señorita, have you ever heard of werecats?”

“I beg your pardon?” Kristine said faintly.

Both Lister and Krytfield groaned.  “Please, Señor Gato, not that again!” they chorused.

“Why not?  Señorita Kochanski has never heard this tale before!  You see, Señorita,” - he struck a dramatic pose - “once a month during the full moon, I turn into a creature of the night!”

“A … creature of the night?” Kristine echoed dubiously.

“Si, Señorita!  I am a werecat!”

Kristine turned back to Lister.  “David, I apologise for my rudeness, but please could I talk to you privately for a moment?”  She gave him a serious, pleading look.

“Of course.”  Lister’s tone was more hesitant than his words.  “Krytfield…”  He nodded meaningfully at the butler, who caught on.

“Señor Gato, the Count gave me some instructions for you regarding his new cape.  They’re in the kitchen; why don’t you come back with me whilst I get the cake?”

“Cake?!” Señor Gato bounced eagerly from his seat and followed the butler’s trolley as it trundled through the sitting room doorway.

Lister gave Kristine an apologetic look.  “Don’t mind him; he’s just a bit eccentric.”  
“Eccentric?!  David, what is going on here?  I don’t even know where to start!”

“Nothing’s going on.  It’s just different in Transylvania.”  Lister shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, his eyes downcast.

“The butler refused to let me in, claiming that you’d left for England.  I literally had to chase one of the other servants through the kitchen entrance in order to get to see you at all.”

Lister looked up in surprise.  “I’m sorry.  I suppose he was worried about getting into trouble for hiding your letters from me.  But that is very rude.  Not like him at all.”

“I could overlook that, perhaps.  But a strange man who thinks he’s a werecat?  And - you saying you’re in love with a man?  Romantic love?”

Lister’s blush reminded her of one of her former schoolmates whenever a certain schoolmistress upon whom she had had a crush had paid her any attention whatsoever.  “I know it’s unusual at my age, Krissie.  But the Count is amazing.  He’s so tall and loving and handsome.  We want to live together permanently.”

“David, do you realise what you’re saying?  This kind of thing is all very well at boarding school and maybe even Oxford, but it has to be left behind once people enter the grown-up world, like other childish things.”

“It’s not childish!  It’s genuine, romantic love between two fully grown adults.  If you met him you’d understand.  As soon as I saw him gliding down those steps, his cape billowing behind him, I was a goner.”  Lister smiled dreamily.

“He wears a cape?” was all Kristine could muster, her mind a whirl of concern as she studied Lister’s pallor and remembered the bandage at his neck, concealed though it now was under his hastily buttoned up shirt.  Was it possible that David was taking some kind of drug, knowingly or otherwise?

“He has lots of different ones, actually, all made by Señor Gato.  They all suit him so well.”

“David, I have to be honest here.  I’m worried about your health.  For the second time, what happened to your neck?”

David turned crimson, looking like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the biscuit jar.  “Nothing!  I just … cut myself shaving.  Look, I’m sure your tea must be cool enough to drink by now.”

He got up with the obvious intention of handing it to her, but reeled slightly.  Looking disorientated, he sank back down onto the sofa.

Krytfield and Señor Gato chose that moment to reappear, the trolley now laden with a delicious looking cake.

“Now, Señorita, as I was saying-”

Kristine rose.  “I’m sorry, Señor, but I’m afraid I have to leave.  Immediately.”

Lister got up again with an effort, his voice cutting across Señor Gato’s exclamations of dismay.  “No Krissie, you don’t have to go!  I mean, you’ve come so far and… I can’t just…”  He tailed off, his face a picture of guilt.

“It’s alright, David, I’m just going back to the inn.  I need to be by myself for a while to take all of this in.  I’ll come back tomorrow with a doctor because I really think you need to see one.  All this faintness in a young man like yourself is not usual.”

Lister looked at her for rather longer than necessary before nodding.  “I understand, Krissie.  Just remember, I do care about you.  And I’m sorry.”

“I care about you too, David.”  Kristine held out her arms and they hugged briefly once more, then she turned abruptly to the doorway without looking back, determined to hold on to her dignity.  Krytfield followed her.

 

 

The butler returned to the sitting room and saw that Señor Gato had pulled one of his habitual disappearing acts after helping himself to a generous slice of cake.  Lister was still on the settee, his head in his hands.

“I apologise again, sir.  I realise I had no right to do what I did.”

Lister lifted his head, his face shining with tears.  “S’alright.  You shouldn’t have, but it’s my fault really.”

“You couldn’t have known she’d come all the way to Transylvania, sir.  And she’s gone now.”

“But she’ll be back, with a doctor or a psychiatrist or something.  Didn’t you see the look on her face?  She thinks I’ve gone mad.”

“You really think so, sir?”

“After Señor Gato and his werecat obsession, any chance I had of convincing her otherwise went down the plughole.  She had that “humouring the idiots” expression.  I’ve seen it before but not as bad.  At boring social events.”

“Well, we can probably convince a psychiatrist you’re sane if it comes to that, sir.  Just don’t mention being in love with His Excellency.”

“I don’t want to take the risk.  I don’t want to have to deal with this crap anymore.  I just want to be with the Count.”

“We need to consult him later, sir.  He may be able to think of something.”

“We’re going to do more than consult him.”  Lister rose purposefully.  “He’s going to turn me.  Tonight.”


	14. Chapter 14

Kristine felt light-headed as she slowly walked across the sun-dappled cobbles of the castle’s courtyard. Her head was swimming from more than just the early summer heat. She pressed a hand to her forehead and groaned as she tried to process everything that had just happened back in the castle. Of all the various scenarios that her imagination had concocted as she'd fretted over Lister’s whereabouts, him falling in love with the Count was one that she could not have seen coming in her wildest dreams.

She leaned against the heavy stone archway as she peered back at the imposing castle. _It doesn’t make any sense,_ she thought as she squinted up at the facade. Her eyes skimmed from window to window, as if searching for some kind of clue as to what had caused this madness. _This isn’t the David that I know. He has to be ill, terribly ill. It’s the only explanation. Unless that Count has somehow bewitched him._ Kristine wasn’t one to take much stock in the supernatural, but after the insanity that she’d just witnessed in the sitting room, almost anything was seeming plausible.

“Where is the sweet English boy?” A heavily accented voice suddenly hissed in Kristine’s ear. She jumped back in surprise as she’d completely forgotten that Doamnă Bunică was waiting for her.

“He’s gone mad,” Kristine replied as she turned to the older woman. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. He must have contracted some sort of terrible illness that’s affected his mind. He didn’t look well. He was pale and he nearly fainted, and the things he was saying…”

Doamnă Bunică suddenly grabbed onto Kristine’s elbow; her wrinkled hands were deceptively strong. “Did he have a mark on his neck?”

Kristine’s brows creased into a frown. “He did have a bandage on his neck.”

“Cacat!” The old woman shouted in Romanian as she began walking briskly back to the cart.

“What? What does a mark on his neck mean?” Kristine asked as she followed along, stumbling as she caught her toes on the cobbles. “What do you think is wrong with David?”

“Not here!” Doamnă Bunică muttered under her breath. “They may hear us! Come!” She gestured for Kristine to join her as she clambered up into the driver’s seat.

“But we can’t just leave David here…”

“I said come! I will explain soon!”

Kristine shook her head weakly as she climbed up into the wagon. Doamnă Bunică wasted no time in spurring the horses on, and driving the cart back through the castle gates.

 

* * *

 

“Your fiancée? You mean she’s here?” The Count’s normally eloquent speaking voice squeaked as he stared at Lister in horror.

“Don’t worry, I’ve told her all about us. I’ve broken off our engagement.”

“But why is she here? I thought she was all the way back in England! Didn’t you write to let her know what was going on?” The Count sputtered into silence as he struggled to grasp the situation.

“Well y’see, the thing is… I sort of… forgot to break things off with her.” Lister looked down at his shoes, like a child caught with jam on his face.

“You WHAT?”

“I kept meaning to, I swear! It just… never seemed like a good time.”

“Never seemed like a good time?” The Count replied in disbelief.

“And I was enjoying myself so much being here with you, it honestly just kept getting pushed from my mind. I promise I always intended to let her know that things were over. And I might have done, if Krytes here hadn’t been hiding her letters from me!” Lister jabbed his thumb behind him and the butler gave a guilty twitch and stood himself up taller.

“You what? Krytfield, explain yourself!”

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to cause any harm. I never imagined that Miss Kochanski would ever do something like this! I just thought it would be better if Mr Lister wasn’t reminded of her as the two of you have been spending so much time together. I didn’t want him to be distracted.”

“Distracted? Well he sure as smeg is distracted now that she’s here isn’t he!”

A smile cracked the corner of Lister’s lips. “Did you just say, smeg?”

“You’re damned smegging right I did!” The Count reached a trembling hand up to his perfectly lacquered curls before thinking better of mussing his hair, and dropped it back down. “What are we going to do about her?”

“Look, don’t worry, Arn.” Lister walked over to the Count and held his hands tenderly. “I can handle Krissie. Once she gets over the shock I’m sure she’ll be fine. Krytes? Would you mind leaving us for a bit? I need to talk to the Count in private.”

“Of course, sirs,” Krytfield replied. “And once again, Mr Lister, I am so sorry about the letters. I hope you can forgive me.”

“It’s all right. I know you thought you were doing the right thing.”

“Thank you, sir.” Krytfield bowed gratefully as he left the Count’s room.

“Arn,” Lister whispered as he turned back to the Count, gazing up into hazel eyes that were still wide with panic. “I don’t want to wait any longer. I want you to turn me, tonight.”

The Count’s brows furrowed in concern as he looked down at Lister. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I already knew I wanted to be with you, but  seeing Krissie here in person really just hammered it home. That life I was living, Arn, that wasn’t for me. All I was ever doing was going along with what other people wanted for me. This is the first time in years that I’ve ever felt really and truly happy. I don’t just want to spend the rest of my life with you, Arn. I want to spend the rest of forever.”

The Count chewed on his lower lip with one of his fangs as he wrestled with his emotions. “But… We’ve only been together such a short time, David. Perhaps we should wait until we’ve had more time?”

“Time? Time isn’t guaranteed for anyone, Arn. D’you think that when my parents got on that train, that they thought it was going to be the last trip of their lives? That everything was going to end that day? They didn’t. Like everyone, they thought they had more time. But we don’t know, Arn.” Lister slid his hands around the Count’s back and pulled him close. “As long as I’m mortal, this could all just be gone. Gone like that.” He snapped his fingers and the Count flinched. “Do you really want to risk that, Arn? Risk losing what we have?”

The Count remained quiet as he stared down at Lister, taking in all the emotion that was swirling in the brown eyes. “No, David. I don’t.”

“Then it’s settled!” Lister replied as he stood up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on the Count’s nose. “Sorry, Arn, but you’re stuck with me, for better or for worse. I love you, and I always will.”

The Count sighed in relief as he felt his heart lighten. “Alright, but we’re not doing this right away.”

“Why not? Why wait?”

“You at least need to have dinner first, you’ll need your strength for the transformation.”

“Why? Is it going to hurt?”

The Count pursed his lips as he dredged through his memory banks. “I don’t remember it hurting per se, but it’s a bit uncomfortable, and it does leave you quite tired and worn out afterwards. Besides, Krytfield and the Skutters are already preparing your dinner anyway.”

Lister pouted slightly, torn between not wanting to be rude and have the butler and servants’ efforts be for nothing, and his desire to have his new immortal life with the Count start sooner rather than later.

“You should have one last meal as a mortal anyway, David. You should get your fill of earthly delights now while you still can. Things will taste differently once you’re a vampire.”

“Will they?” Lister chewed on his lower lip in concern as he digested this new information. “How much different?”

“It’s hard to say. It might be different for everyone, but I do find that I take very little pleasure in eating food since becoming a vampire. Although I suppose eating never was one of my great pleasures. I don’t even like drinking blood except for yours.”

“You still could eat regular food if you wanted to though, yeah?”

“Certainly, I just don’t find much need or desire for it.” The Count rubbed his hands along Lister’s shoulders. “You slake all of my desires, David.”

“Will my blood still taste the same to you? Once you’ve turned me?”

“I’m really not sure. This is all just as new to me as it is to you, David. Even if I can’t drink your blood anymore, it’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make, if it means I get to be with you always.” He raised his hands to Lister’s face, caressing his cheeks with cool fingers.

Lister glided his own hands into the soft curls at the back of the Count’s head and kissed him tenderly. “Mmmm… I can think of a few other earthly delights I want to sample before the night is over with.”

“Sample whatever you like, just make sure you have some actual food to eat first,” the Count replied sternly.

“Fine, fine…” Lister grumbled as he jabbed his thumb at the door. “Why don’t you let Krytfield know? He’s probably snooping and listening at the door anyway.”

On the other side of the door, Krytfield immediately stiffened from his crouched position at the keyhole, and scrambled away to the kitchens.

 

* * *

 

 “Vampires?” Kristine shouted incredulously. “You can’t possibly be serious?”

“I am always serious, English lady.”

 _Alright, I’ll give her that,_ Kristine thought as she shook her head weakly. _First David is acting like a madman, and now my only ally is talking about blood sucking monsters._ “But… you have to see how this would seem very unbelievable to me. I mean vampires, they’re the stuff of storybooks meant to scare children. They’re not real.”

“They ARE real,” Doamnă Bunică hissed. “The Count’s own father was the one who killed my poor husband. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Kristine sighed as she stared at the rapidly darkening sky, as if looking for strength. “Look, Madame Bunică. I’m dreadfully sorry for the loss of your husband, but surely the Count’s father was just a very disturbed human being? The fact that he murdered your dearly departed husband doesn't mean he was some sort of supernatural being.”

“I SAW him, English lady. And I trust what I see. Believe me, your sweet English boy is in terrible danger. We cannot leave him in the castle. If he is how you say he is, then we may already be too late.”

“Too late, ma’am? Too late for what?”

“To save his life, English lady. Or worse, his very soul.”

“His soul? What…?”

“We must not waste time talking. It is almost dark, we must prepare quickly.” Doamnă Bunică hopped down from the driver’s seat and walked to the back of the cart with a sprightliness that belied her age. Kristine shook her head in disbelief as she followed behind her. The old woman quickly untied the tarp covering the back of the cart and flipped it back to reveal a small cache of weapons: a few shotguns, sharpened wooden stakes, torches, and the massive crossbow that Kristine had seen hanging in the inn.

“What on earth are all of these for?”

“Protection,” Doamnă Bunică replied as she pulled the crossbow from the cart.

“Protection? From an old Count, a simpering butler, and a couple of servants? Madam Bunică, I’m sure you feel you’re doing what’s best, but I really think that…”

“I have told you, English lady, the castle is more dangerous than you know. Many years ago, my father, brothers, and many of the men from the village. It took all of them to fight off those… those monștri!” The old woman turned and spat on the ground before she continued. “I only wish I had killed the Count when I had the chance.”

“Kill him!” Kristine shouted in alarm. “Madame Bunică! Surely you can’t mean to…”

“I told you that the Count’s father killed my husband! If the Count has harmed your dear English boy,” she paused as she loaded the crossbow with one of the wooden stakes. “Then he shall have to answer to me,” she hissed as she glared up at the dark shadow of the castle.

“This all seems very unnecessary,” Kristine replied as she reluctantly grabbed a torch from the pile.

“We must be prepared to face them again! As soon as it is dark...” Doamnă Bunică gestured to the disappearing sun. “...We strike!”

 

* * *

 

“Make sure you strike while the roast is still hot, sir!”

Lister stared in disbelief at the sumptuous feast Krytfield had laid out for him: a roast of beef with all the trimmings, a tureen filled to the top with gravy, a platter loaded with crispy Yorkshire puddings, and a pint glass of beer filled neatly to the top. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Krytes!”

“Well, seeing as it’s a special occasion, I thought it warranted a special meal! And it’s honestly no trouble, sir. I am happy to serve.”

“Cheers then!” Lister winked at the butler as he sipped at his pint.

The Count, sitting at Lister’s right cleared his throat pointedly. “Thank you Krytfield, that will be all.”

“Certainly, Your Excellency,” Krytfield dipped his head in a bow as he headed for the door.

“And do us a favour Krytes! Lock the door behind you!”

“Lock the door, sir? You mean you don’t wish for me to return with dessert?”

“I’ve already got me own plans for dessert,” Lister replied as he winked at the Count. Krytfield left through the door to the kitchens, shaking his head in confusion.

“You’re terrible.”

“Wha’? I just want us to have a bit of privacy,” Lister grinned as he sawed away at a fat slice of roast.

“Well you just focus on your eating for now,” the Count tutted at Lister as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sure thing, mum.” The Count shot daggers over Lister’s plate.

“I’m only insisting because you…”

“Yeah, yeah. Because I need my strength. I remember.” Lister grumbled out of the corner of his mouth as he grabbed for a Yorkshire pudding with one hand, and the gravy tureen with the other. As he tucked into his dinner, the Count’s expression rapidly switched from exasperation to enchantment as he watched Lister savoring every mouthful. Quite aware of the effect he was having on the Count, Lister slowed down the pace of his repast, milking every mouthful for as long as he could. As the minutes dragged on, the Count leaned further into the table until he was almost hovering over Lister.

Lister stared back at the Count as he snatched the crusty remainder of one of his Yorkshire puddings and mopped a heavy dollop of beef gravy from his plate before popping the morsel in his mouth. The Count propped his head up on his arm as he looked at Lister dreamily and sighed. “You make eating look positively filthy, David. Did you know that?” Lister’s tongue darted across his lips to catch any missed drops and the Count shivered.

“And you love every minute of it, don’t you?” Lister fixed the Count with a suggestive look as he slowly sucked at the tips of his fingers. The Count remained silent but squirmed in his seat as he stared entranced as Lister curled his tongue seductively around his index finger.

“Have you had enough yet?” He asked as he glanced at the clock over the mantle with growing impatience.

“Mmm mmm,” Lister muttered from around his fingers as he shook his head.

“How much longer are you going to be?”

“Oh I’m done with the food,” Lister replied as he shoved his dishes to the side and crawled up onto the table. “But I haven’t had enough of you yet.” He leaned in towards the Count, grabbed him by his silky cravat and kissed him. After several moments of enthusiastic snogging, the Count pulled away and raised an eyebrow at Lister.

“I thought you said you didn’t want dessert.”

“Well,” Lister replied cheekily. “There’s always room for…” Lister leaned in close to the Count and whispered something that made the vampire’s pale cheeks practically glow.

“Erm… well yes I… I suppose that… that would be…” The Count stuttered as he struggled to look Lister in the eye.

“Arn,” Lister grumbled impatiently as he hopped off of the table, and grabbed the Count by the arm. “Just get on the sofa already, will you?”

 

* * *

 

Kristine groaned as she shifted again, searching for a comfortable spot but with cold dirt under her, and chilly stones at her back, there was no comfort to be found. She was regretting not bringing along a warmer coat or wrap with her on this trip. She hadn’t anticipated how chilly the nights would get this high up in the mountains. She squinted down at her wristwatch, but in the gloom of the early night she couldn’t make out the hands or even the dial. She peered up at the sky in irritation; the moon was already casting the faintest rays across the castle’s facade. _Oh for god’s sake, we’ve been out here for hours! This is ridiculous!_

“Madam Bunică?” Kristine cleared her throat as she attempted to suppress the note of irritation that was leaching into her voice. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how long do you intend us to be sitting out here. In the cold,” she added pointedly.

“We must wait, English lady,” Doamnă Bunică replied, her voice as firm and resolute as always.

“What exactly are we waiting for though? I mean, you can’t expect us to just wait all night on the off chance that someone will leave a door open. I mean for all we know, they could be in there for days.”

“The one who works in the kitchens, he will be coming out soon. Then we can get inside the castle.”

Kristine paused for a moment as she took in Doamnă Bunică’s words. “How… how do you know one of the servants will be coming out?”

“I spy, English lady.”

“You SPY?”

“Yes. The old Count, he murdered my husband. I do not forget easily. When there are not many customers at the inn, I come here and I watch.”

“Watch for what?”

“I do not trust this new Count, any more than I trusted his father. He is a vampire, English lady. You cannot trust the undead. I knew that one day I would have my revenge.” Doamnă Bunică raised a gnarled finger up to the sky before curling it down into a triumphant fist. “And that day has finally come!”

 

* * *

 

“Oh god,” the Count groaned as Lister rolled off of him. “Finally,” he gasped as he stared up at the dining room’s high ceiling.

“Wha’? Am I wearing you out, Arn?”

“I suppose,” the Count licked at his lips as he closed his eyes. “Even supernatural beings have their limits.”

“Well I hope you’ve got enough energy left for the big event tonight,” Lister grinned as he climbed back onto the Count’s supine form and wound his fingers in the tousled curls.

“I’m sure I can muster up the wherewithal,” the Count smiled at the sensation of Lister’s nails skittering playfully across his scalp. “Just give me a moment to gather my thoughts.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Lister flashed the Count a mischief-laced grin as he stood up and began to pull on his clothes. “Let me freshen up, and meet me in my room in a couple of hours, yeah?”

“Why there?” The Count asked.

“Well that’s where… y’know. It was our first time together.” Lister raised an eyebrow coyly while the Count’s cheeks flushed.

“Yes well,” the Count hurriedly cleared his throat. “That seems fine. I’ll er… I’ll see you later then?”

“You’re damn smegging right you will,” Lister replied as he pulled the Count’s head down and kissed him heavily.

 

* * *

 

Lister’s footfalls thundered heavily down the corridor before he suddenly screeched to a halt in front of an elaborately carved door. “Señor Gato?” Lister shouted as his fist banged against the whorls of wood. “Señor Gato? Are you in there?” After a few moments of silence, the door suddenly swung open revealing the Señor looking more threadbare than was usual for him. His long hair which was normally pulled back in a ponytail and swept up elaborately at the front, was spread out over his shoulders and he had a silver hairbrush clutched in one hand.

“Señor Lister? I am afraid I cannot be bothered right now! I am only forty-two strokes in!”

“Erm… sorry?”

“I am brushing my hair!” Señor Gato replied impatiently as he brandished the hairbrush. “Two hundred strokes every day! Any less than that, and I risk split ends!”

“Look, could your hair wait? I’ve got something really important that I need your help with.”

“With all respect, Señor Lister. There is nothing more important than my HAIR!”

“Not even… fashion?”

Señor Gato’s grin grew wider and his eyes sparkled. “Fashion, you say?” He ushered Lister inside his room and closed the door behind them.

Several minutes later, Lister emerged from the Señor’s quarters with a small bundle of clothes in his hands that he looked at with an expression of doubt. “Are you sure these will be alright?”

“I am certain of it, Señor Lister!”

“You don’t think it’s a bit much?”

“Not at all! Now, please!” Señor Gato pleaded as he gave Lister a polite shove. “I can feel my ends starting to split!” Without another word he closed the door and Lister could hear him singing one of the arias from “Carmen”. Lister gave his bundle of clothes a tentative shrug before heading to his quarters to scrub up.

 

* * *

 

Kristine yawned heavily as the minutes dragged painfully by. Apart from the discomfort of the cold, and her general anxiety at the prospect of breaking and entering, the sheer boredom of doing nothing but waiting was beginning to overwhelm her.

“So,” Kristine said as she attempted to make small talk with her vigilante companion. “Do you enjoy running the inn by yourself? That must be trying work.”

Doamnă Bunică let out an exclamation somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Enjoy? It is how I live, English lady.”

“Of course,” Kristine chewed her lip as she paused and tried to redirect the conversation, desperate to keep the old woman engaged. “Did you ever consider remarrying after what happened with your husband?”

“Never,” Madame Bunică responded, her voice surprisingly melancholy. “There was no one else in the village like my husband.” She turned to look at Kristine, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Ferenc, he was the most handsome man in the village.”

“Was he really?” Kristine rested her head on her knee as she gazed at the old woman with renewed interest.

“Da,” Doamnă Bunică replied, losing herself in her native language for a moment. “The whole village was jealous of me when we were married. Ferenc was handsome, but he was also a very good man: kind, honest and hardworking. I could never find as good a husband.”

“I see,” Kristine replied as her brain conjured up a mental picture of the innkeeper’s former husband: a tall rugged looking man with Slavic features, dark hair and a dashing smile. “Were you married for very long before he was…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘murdered’, it was just too gruesome to even think about it, never mind say it out loud.

“No,” Doamnă Bunică replied, her face grave as she stretched out her arms and cracked her knuckles. “It was less than a year before he was taken from me.”

“How sad,” Kristine said somberly as she felt her heart suddenly soften towards this rather severe seeming older woman. She tried to imagine Doamnă Bunică as a young woman; full of youth and promise and happy anticipation for her life after snatching up the most eligible bachelor in the village. But it was hard to see anything but what the present showed; an older woman made tough and careworn by a life so quickly turned tragic. “Do you think of him very often?”

“We must be more quiet, English lady.” Doamnă Bunică gestured with a wrinkled finger on her lips. “Soon it will be time.”

“Of course,” Kristine sighed and watched the moon drift higher above the trees as they lapsed back into an unbroken silence.

 

* * *

 

“You’re certain it looks all right?”

“Not a hair out of place, Your Excellency! You look positively dashing!”

The Count’s scarlet-lined cape swirled behind him as he turned so that Krytfield could make a thorough inspection. “Oh spare me the flattery, Krytfield. I just want to make sure I don’t look like a total ninny.”

“Not a ninny in sight, sir.” Krytfield replied reassuringly as he brushed at the Count’s cloak.

“Krytfield?”

“Yes, sir?”

“As you and I both know, I am a capable, mature, well-read adult, who is completely capable of making decisions on my own.” The Count straightened visibly as he spoke.

“Of course, Your Excellency,” Krytfield replied as he let the tiniest of eyerolls escape.

“That being said. Are you certain that I’m doing the right thing, here?” The Count stared at his butler with wide eyes, and for a moment Krytfield was reminded of the gangly youth who he used to sneak sandwiches to in the middle of the night. He smiled warmly at the Count as he patted his shoulder.

“Sir, I’ve known you your whole life, and I think I can safely say that Mr Lister is the best thing to have ever happened to you. Seeing the two of you together these last few months has been extraordinary. It’s clear you hold a great deal of affection for one another, and I’ve never seen you so happy. Quite frankly, it brings a tear to my eye, sir. Knowing that the two of you have each other.” Krytfield gave a small sniffle as he wiped at his eyes.

“Yes, well there’s no need to get so soppy about it,” the Count replied with an edge of disgust to his voice.

“My apologies, sir.” Krytfield spluttered as he bent down to polish the Count’s shoes.

“Never mind that, it’s fine. Just leave me. I need to... collect my thoughts.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” Krytfield made a deep bow as he left the Count’s quarters. As soon as the door closed, the Count buried his face in his hands and moaned.

“Oh smeg.” He muttered into the skin of his hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kristine parroted unawares down in the castle grounds. “This is madness!” She hissed at Doamnă Bunică as they crept along the outer courtyard wall in the darkness.

“The world is a mad place, English lady.” Doamnă Bunică replied coolly as she pointed to the door to the kitchens that Kristine had used earlier. “There, that is our way inside. Just a few minutes more.” Kristine felt a chill spread over her as the old woman raised her crossbow menacingly.

 _Just remember, David._ Kristine thought as she tightened her grip on her unlit torch. _You’re doing this for David. He clearly needs help._

 

* * *

 

Long fingers drummed nervously on the Count’s thighs as he made his way down the corridor to Lister’s room. As the plain wooden door came into view, his nerves kicked into overdrive. His adam’s apple bobbed like a buoy in a storm as he swallowed and then breathed self-consciously into his palm to check his breath. _What’s wrong with you?_ He thought with a surge of annoyance. _It’s just David waiting behind that door, there’s no need to be nervous. You’re the Count, remember?_ He steeled his nerves as he walked up to Lister’s door and rapped on it sharply.

“Come in,”  came Lister’s soft response from the other side of the door.

The Count grasped the handle with trembling fingers and opened the door. He took a step into the room and then stopped as suddenly as if he’d hit a glass wall. His mouth dropped open and his hazel eyes bulged. Lister was reclined on his bed, wearing a pair of black form-fitting leather trousers that left very little to the imagination, high black boots, and a flowy white shirt that was completely open at the front, exposing every inch of his chest and neck. “What do you think?” Lister asked as he smiled up at the Count’s frozen face. “Like what you see, Arn?”

The Count continued to stand and stare as if he'd just encountered Medusa. Lister chuckled as he hopped down from the bed and grasped the Count’s hands. “You’re shaking,” he said as he pulled the Count closer to him. “Are you scared?”

“No,” the Count said as he let out the breath he’d been holding in. “It’s just… where did THIS come from?” He nodded at Lister’s clothes.

“Señor Gato lent me some things. I wanted to look nice, seein’ as this is a special occasion and all. Do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s…” Rimmer let his gaze slowly sink down Lister’s chest. “It’s…” His voice stalled again as he reached the tight leather trousers.

Lister chuckled as he kicked the door closed and tugged on the Count’s arm, “Just come with me to the bed, you silly smegger.”

The Count obliged, following Lister to the bed like an obedient puppy. Lister lay back down on the bed, and pulled the Count with him. “I love you, Arn.” Lister purred as he stroked a finger down the Count’s pale cheek. “And I want to be with you, forever. And I want forever to start tonight.” He kissed the Count gently and then turned his head, resting it on the pillow and baring his neck.

“Oh, David.” The Count sighed as he lowered his lips to Lister’s neck and nuzzled at the soft skin.

Lister gasped as he felt the prick of the Count’s fangs against him. “Oh yes! Now, Arn! Do it now!”

 

* * *

 

“Now!” Doamnă Bunică whispered fiercely as the kitchen doorknob began to turn.

“God help us,” Kristine muttered under her breath as she pressed herself tighter against the side of the wall. “This is madness! Complete and utter madness!” The door suddenly swung open and Bald Curtains came through, carrying a large basket filled with potato peels and carrot trimmings.

“Now!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she rushed forward. Bald Curtains only had a moment to turn, his eyes popping as the old woman rammed into him, sending potato peels flying as he crashed to the ground. “Go!” Doamnă Bunică barked as she scurried through the open kitchen door with surprising speed.

“Oh my word,” Kristine fought back a pang of guilt as she quickly ran past Bald Curtains’ potato-festooned form. “I’m so terribly sorry!” She shouted over her shoulder as they ran through the toasty interior of the kitchens.

“This way!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she weaved through the tables.

“How do you know which way to go?” Kristine asked as she tripped after the old woman.

“I remember from the last time, English lady.” Doamnă Bunică replied as she exited the kitchens, turned right and quickly headed toward a heavy wooden staircase. “Also, I spy!”

“This is madness!” Kristine repeated as she followed the old woman up the staircase and down another corridor.

 

* * *

 

“Oh you drive me mad, Arn!” Lister cried out as the Count wrapped himself around him and drank, his scarlet-lined cloak enveloping them like a cocoon. Lister wound his limbs around the Count and shivered as he felt each suck bring him closer to eternity with the man he loved. “Keep going, Arn. Don’t stop!”  

 

* * *

 

“Can’t we stop just for a moment?” Kristine gasped. “I need to catch my breath!” She leaned against the corridor wall and mentally cursed her tight undergarments.

“We must not waste more time, English lady! First we will check the guest quarters.” Doamnă Bunică hefted her crossbow onto her shoulder as she turned through another doorway and practically sprinted down another corridor.

“Wait!” Kristine shouted after her as she held onto her aching side. “Slow down a... OOF!!” The unlit torch flew from Kristine's fingers as she smashed full-force into Krytfield who had suddenly backed out of the dining room with a trolley full of the last of the dinner dishes. There was a loud cacophony as Kristine, Krytfield and the trolley crashed to the floor.

“Miss Kochanski?” Krytfield replied shakily as he tried to collect himself. “What are you… oh no!” He cried out in despair as he picked up the shattered remains of a saucer. “Not the Wedgwood!”

“I’m so sorry!” Kristine cried out as she picked herself up gingerly, her elbow smarting where it had connected with the castle floor. “I’m so… Madame Bunică?!” Kristine looked up just in time to see the old woman disappear through another doorway. Kristine grabbed up her skirts and continued after her. “Madame Bunică!”

 

* * *

 

“Did you hear that?” The Count raised his head from Lister’s neck and looked around quizzically.

“Mmm? Hear wha’?” Lister slurred in a contented way. He was beginning to feel slightly woozy from the amount of blood that the Count had taken.

“That sound. It was a sort of crash.”

“Probably just Krytfield, or the Skutters.” Lister replied sleepily as he pawed at the Count. “Don’t stop now, Arn. I’m nearly there, I can feel it…” He sank back down into the bed and the Count licked the blood from his fangs before he returned to Lister’s neck. “Oh yes,” Lister gasped as the Count continued to feed. “Almost there, Arn. Almost there…”

 

* * *

 

“We’re almost there, English lady! Come!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she turned her head, but Kristine was lagging several yards behind. When she reached the door to the guest quarters, without even pausing she raised a booted foot and kicked it squarely in the center. The door burst open with a loud splintering of wood.

“What the smeg?!” The Count shouted from the bed as Doamnă Bunică stepped into the room.

“What’s it, Arn? Am I a vampire yet?” Lister lay on the bed, blood still seeping from his neck, his eyes unfocused as he looked around blearily.

“You BASTARD!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she raised her crossbow and aimed it at the Count.

“YOU?!” The Count cried in horror as he recoiled and backed away from Lister.


	15. Chapter 15

“Arn? What’s happening? What...?” Lister tried to prop himself up in the bed but fell back to the pillows.

“THIS IS FOR MY HUSBAND, YOU BASTARD!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she pulled the trigger on her crossbow and let the wooden stake fly. There was a sudden puff of smoke that the stake passed through harmlessly, then the flapping of wings as a small brown bat flew over Doamnă Bunică’s head and out the door.

“Arn! Don’t go! Wait!” Lister attempted to stand, but the effort was too much for him and he collapsed back onto the bed in a dead faint.

“La naiba!” Doamnă Bunică cried out as she struggled to reload the crossbow.

“What’s going on?” Kristine called as she panted her way into the guest quarters.

“The Count, he escaped!”

“Escaped? But how? I didn’t see anyone leave the room.”

“He flew out the door!”

“He what?” Kristine’s confused face fell as she noticed Lister’s crumpled form on the bed. “David!” She called out as she rushed to his side. She picked up his head and gently shook him. “David? David? What’s happened?” A gasp escaped her lips as she noticed the flow of blood dribbling from his neck. “Oh god! He’s bleeding, Madame Bunică!”

“Yes! The Count, he was feeding on him,” Doamnă Bunică muttered as she continued to fumble with the crossbow. “Then he turned into a bat and escaped.”

“He WHAT?”

“Did you not see him fly away?” Doamnă Bunică gestured impatiently at the open door.

“SEE HIM FLY AWAY?” Kristine looked at the older woman incredulously. “David is bleeding! Can we please stop talking nonsense?”

“Cacat,” Doamnă Bunică muttered angrily under her breath as she walked over to the bed and inspected the two holes in Lister’s pallid neck. “He has been bitten, but we may still be able to save him.” She slung her crossbow onto her back and quickly tore a strip off of Lister’s bed sheet and handed it to Kristine. “We need to stop him from losing more blood.” Kristine took the fabric with shaking hands and pressed it against Lister’s wound while Doamnă Bunică’s eyes darted around the room. “We must get him away from here,” she mumbled to herself as she grabbed the toiletries trolley from Lister’s bathroom and hurriedly tipped all the contents to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Kristine yelled over the crashing of bottles as the room filled with a pungent cloud of eucalyptus and lavender.

“Here, you take his legs.” Doamnă Bunică scurried over to the bed and grasped Lister firmly under the shoulders.

Kristine numbly followed the woman’s orders and grabbed Lister around his ankles. Her eyes bulged as her brain finally seemed to process Lister’s revamped wardrobe. “Good god, what on earth is he wearing?”

Doamnă Bunică gave a dismissive tut as she shook her head. “Lift him gently! We must get him out of here as soon as we can!” Together the two women lifted Lister’s motionless body and laid him out inelegantly on top of the trolley, his arms and legs dangling like noodles over the edge of a bowl.

“We must go, now!” Doamnă Bunică hissed as she started to push the trolley through the bedroom door.

“What about his things?”

“I said now, English lady!” Kristine hurriedly grabbed Lister’s briefcase and jacket from a nearby chair before following Doamnă Bunică out into the hall.

“Miss Kochanski! Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Kristine groaned. She’d completely forgotten about the butler.

Krytfield was pulling at large handfuls of his hair as he looked between the two women, his features twisted with distress. “You put Mister Lister back into his room right away! The Count would be furious if you took him away!”

“Your Count is DEAD,” Doamnă Bunică said casually as she continued to push the trolley with Lister on it.

“He’s WHAT?” Krytfield’s hands froze mid-tease, leaving his hair a massive bouffant as he stared in shock at Doamnă Bunică’s back.

“Dead. I killed him. Shot him with a wooden stake.”

“Oh no! Not his Excellency!” Krytfield dragged his hands down his cheeks in misery. “Where is he?”

“Bah, who knows.” Doamnă Bunică grumbled as she turned to look back at Krytfield dismissively. “He transformed himself and flew out the window.”

“He WHAT?!” Krytfield looked back and forth between Doamnă Bunică and Kristine in horror.

“Da, he’s probably dead in a bush somewhere.”

“Oh my heavens, no!” Krytfield pushed past the two women as he sprinted away yelling for the Count.

“You KILLED him? But I thought he…” Kristine’s tongue stalled as Doamnă Bunică shot her a look as lethal as her crossbow.

“I was LYING, English lady. But we’ve no time, we must get your David out of here.” Doamnă Bunică resumed pushing the trolley with Lister’s inert form on it down the hallway, Kristine trailing behind her.

They reached the staircase and the old woman cursed under her breath.

“Oh no, how will we…” Kristine grew quiet as a memory of Lister gleefully sliding down the banister of the same staircase suddenly popped into her head. “I know! Grab his legs and help me drape him over the railing.” Doamnă Bunică looked at her quizzically but followed her instructions. “Help me slide him down,” Kristine said as they started to glide Lister’s sleeping form down the rail like a slippery somnambulist.

“Very good, English lady!” Together they guided Lister to the base of the stairs and then Doamnă Bunică returned to the top of the stairs and wrestled the trolley down. “Now quick! We are almost there!”

After bundling Lister back onto the trolley, they resumed their race through the castle. _She must have a photographic memory to be able to find her way through this place so effortlessly!_ Kristine thought as she panted and followed after the older woman through what seemed like endless corridors. Finally they found themselves back in the kitchen where there was blessedly no sign of the potato peel-strewn servant.

“Open the door!” Doamnă Bunică shouted as she shoved the trolley between the tables.

Kristine quickly skirted around her and pushed the heavy door open. She looked down at the grass and her heart sank. “We’ll never be able to push him to the cart on that thing!”

“Do not worry, English lady.” Kristine turned just in time to see Doamnă Bunică lift Lister from the trolley and sling him across her shoulders.

“Oh!” Kristine cried in surprise as Doamnă Bunică adjusted him with a shrug and then quickly pushed past her.

“Come! We must still make haste!”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Kristine gripped tighter onto Lister’s things, bundled up her skirts and followed the old woman into the darkness.

By the time they reached the cart with the horses, Madame Bunică’s pace began to slow down. She let out a great exhalation of breath as she plopped Lister down in the cart on a pile of burlap sacks.

“Is he going to be alright?” Kristine asked as she helped bundle Lister’s legs the rest of the way into the cart. The old woman’s face looked wan in the dim light of the cart’s rear lantern as she took Lister’s wrist in her fingers.

“His heart still beats.” Doamnă Bunică replied grimly. “But he has lost much blood. Perhaps too much.”

“Too much? He’s not going to die, is he?”

Doamnă Bunică remained silent, her lips set in a firm line. “You sit with him, I will drive the horses.”

“But…”

“Get in, English lady. We must not be here when the Count finds out what we have done.” Kristine watched the old woman’s retreating form before she clambered awkwardly into the back of the cart. “And keep pressure on the wound!” Doamnă Bunică yelled and there was a snap of the reins as the cart began to creak its way down the mountainside.

 

* * *

 

“Your Excellency!” Krytfield’s panicked voice echoed through the corridors of the house like a singer in an opera house. “Your Excellency!” The butler’s polished shoes squeaked as he sprinted through the back door, heading to the grounds. “Your Excellency!” He shouted again, his voice growing more and more frantic as he ran between the bushes and trees, searching desperately for any sign of the Count, or the crumpled form of a tiny bat. “YOUR EXCELLENCY!!”

 

* * *

 

 _My god,_ Kristine thought as she cradled Lister’s head in her lap. The reality of the situation finally began to sink in as they rapidly made their way down the uneven dirt road. _What have we done? This is complete and utter madness._ The cart hit a large bump in the road and Lister groaned as he was jolted amongst the burlap sacks.

“Can’t you drive more carefully!” Kristine shouted up at Doamnă Bunică as she readjusted Lister’s head in her lap.

“What was that, English lady?” Doamnă Bunică shouted without turning her head.

“I SAID CAN’T YOU DRIVE MORE CAREFULLY?”

“We must make haste, English lady! Your David is still in great danger!” Doamnă Bunică gave a shout and spurred the horses on even faster.

“Oh good heavens,” Kristine groaned as she braced herself on the inside of the cart with one arm, and pressed the bit of sheet firmly to the wound on Lister’s neck with the other. _Just focus on David,_ she thought as the cart continued its jarring journey. She felt every part the doting older sister as she looked down at his pale face and a wave of protective feelings washed over her. He looked even younger than usual with his unconscious head nestled in her lap. _I’ve got to keep him safe, and get him home._ A shaft of moonlight suddenly shot through the trees and Kristine felt heat rise in her cheeks as Lister’s exposed chest and skin-tight trousers were suddenly illuminated. _And get him into some decent clothes,_ she thought as she grabbed his jacket and draped it over him demurely.

 

* * *

 

After prowling the grounds frantically for almost an hour, Krytfield reappeared through the castle’s rear entrance, his wild hair studded all over with leaves and twigs. He panted as he leaned heavily against the stone doorway. “No sign of His Excellency anywhere out there!” He stumbled into the corridor, closing the door behind him, and slumped against the wall in defeat. “Where else could he have gone? If he was wounded as gravely as the old innkeeper said he was, he couldn’t have made it far. Unless...” The butler tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully. “Unless she wasn’t telling the truth!” Krytfield’s eyes bulged in sudden realization.

“You know,” he said aloud as he held his fingers to his chin contemplatively. “I think I may have just had the wool pulled over my eyes! He’s probably still in the castle somewhere! Well, how incredibly rude of that woman!” Krytfield frowned in irritation as he resumed his search inside of the castle. “Oh I am such a fool! Your Excellency! Are you in here somewhere? Your Excellency!”

 

* * *

 

 Kristine let out a relieved sigh as the cart rolled to a sudden stop. The sky outside was beginning to lighten, and she could see the faint outline of the inn through the grey mist swirling its way through the village. Doamnă Bunică’s footsteps crunched tiny pebbles into the dirt road as she quickly ran to the back of the cart.

“Help me carry him in.”

Together the two women brought the still unconscious Lister into the main room of the inn where they laid him across one of the tables, his jacket draped tastefully over his scandalous wardrobe.

“Stay with him,” Doamnă Bunică ordered as she hurried off into an adjacent room.

Kristine’s mind was awhirl as she sank gratefully into one of the creaky wooden chairs next to Lister, her hand still pressed resolutely against his wound. In the cozy light from the oil lamps that warmed the inn’s interior, the unreality of the situation felt even more palpable. _I’m a kidnapper,_ she thought with horror. _I’m a kidnapper and my accomplice is a raving old woman with a crossbow._ She shook her head as she finally decided to just give up trying to process the whole situation. After spending an entire evening waiting out in the cold before rescuing David from the clutches of someone who was supposedly a vampire, her sense of propriety had finally decided to wave a white flag of surrender.

Doamnă Bunică returned with a basket of bandages and ointments. She pulled herself up a chair and set to work cleaning Lister’s wound. “You will leave soon. I have arranged for someone to bring you to Bucharest where you can catch the train.”

“Leave? But shouldn’t we give him time to rest? Give him some time to heal?”

“No, English lady. You must get him away from here. The sun is rising,” she gestured at the window with a brown bottle of iodine. “That will give us time. The Count will not leave his castle until nightfall. You must leave while you still can.” Figuring it was best not to argue, Kristine only nodded in response and remained silent as Doamnă Bunică secured a bandage around Lister’s neck.

“Get your things, the carriage will be ready soon.”

Not long afterwards, Kristine found herself bundled into the back of a carriage along with Lister and their things. The driver was a quiet bearded man who looked less than impressed at having to make the long trip to Bucharest so early in the morning. “My brother,” Doamnă Bunică had muttered apologetically as she introduced them.

Kristine was trying to settle into a comfortable position between Lister and their suitcases, when Doamnă Bunică tossed in several wreaths of garlic. “Are those really necessary?” Kristine asked as she picked up a wreath, her nose wrinkling at the aroma.

“They are for protection, English lady!” Doamnă Bunică said as she threw the last of the wreaths into the carriage and handed Kristine a packet wrapped in brown paper. “You will be hungry on the road.” Kristine’s stomach started to growl as if on cue and she eagerly pulled back a corner of the paper. Her face fell as the unmistakable smell wafted its way from the packet.

“Garlic sandwiches?”

“Garlic is good, English lady. And make sure your David wears this,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out the same heavy wooden crucifix she had given Lister several months before. “It was in his jacket pocket, but he must wear it at all times.” She passed the crucifix over to Kristine, who took it gingerly, doubt furrowing her eyebrows as she put it over Lister’s head and let it rest against his chest.

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done for David.”

“It is nothing, English lady. Just take care of that boy. You must go now. I will stay here. If the Count comes looking for your David…” Doamnă Bunică pulled the crossbow from her back. “He will have me to deal with.” She slapped the back of the carriage and the horses spurred forward.

 

* * *

 

 “He can’t possibly have… he can’t POSSIBLY have…” Krytfield muttered under his breath as he stomped angrily down the hallway. He’d combed nearly every inch of the castle, and only one possibility remained. His footfalls echoed against the stone walls as he walked into the grand hall and rapped his knuckles against the door of a familiar wooden cupboard. “Please tell me that you are NOT in there, Your Excellency!”

There was a tense moment of silence before the unmistakable voice of the Count squeaked, “Go away.”

Krytfield stood fuming for a moment, his bouffant hair matching the height of his temper. “I cannot BELIEVE it. I cannot believe you are hiding in the cupboard again!”

“It was HER! That mad old innkeeper! She's had it in for me ever since my father killed her husband. She tried to kill me! AGAIN!” The Count's voice reverberated inside the wooden cupboard.

“Well you come out of there this instant!” Krytfield shouted as he yanked open the door. The Count was squashed inside, his cape wrapped around him like a cocoon; he looked up at Krytfield with a face like a toddler caught breaking a family heirloom. Krytfield glared down at him scornfully. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

“What? You mean saved myself from a violent, premature, and properly dead death?” The Count frowned down at his shoes as he attempted to extricate himself from the cupboard with some difficulty.

Krytfield fumed, “Would you stop thinking about yourself for just one moment, sir?”

“You’d be thinking about yourself too if you’d been the one with a crossbow being waved in your face!”

“Sir, they’ve taken Mister Lister!”

“They WHAT?” The Count lurched forward, caught his toe on the cupboard doorway and fell flat on his face.

“Miss Kochanski and the innkeeper from the village, they’ve taken Mister Lister and left the castle!”

“Well why the devil didn’t you stop them?!” The Count shouted as he looked up from the floor, his hands clutching at his nose.

“They told me that they shot you, Your Excellency! I’ve been looking all over the castle and grounds just trying to find you!” Krytfield reached down and awkwardly helped pull the Count to his feet.

“Well we’ve got to go and get him back! Go get the Skutters and get the carriage!” The Count clutched at his curls, his face wild with panic.

“We can’t, Your Excellency! Look!” Krytfield pointed through one of the hall’s many windows where the night sky had begun to lighten to the soft grey of dawn.

“Oh smeg!” The Count dragged his hands through his hair as his eyes pinballed around. “This can’t be happening. This CANNOT be happening! I cannot let them take him away!”

“Sir, there’s nothing we can do right now! You must get into your room before the sun comes up! We can’t rescue Mister Lister if you’re nothing but a pile of dust!” Krytfield hurried behind the Count and began to push him urgently out the doorway.

“Oh for god’s sake. This is a nightmare!” The Count groaned as he allowed Krytfield to shove him towards the staircase that led to his suite of rooms.

“All we can do, sir, is wait until nightfall and go after Mister Lister then.”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I left him and now he’s gone. I’m such a coward.” The Count buried his face in his hands.

“Sir,” Krytfield grunted as he continued to push the dejected Count. “Now is really not the time to be wallowing. The sun will be up very soon and this hallway is filled with windows!”

“The man I love has just been stolen away from me, Krytfield! I think I’m allowed to wallow!”

“Well fine then, sir. You enjoy your wallowing, and if Mister Lister comes back looking for you, I’ll be happy to hand him your remains in my dust pan!”

“Alright! Alright! You’ve made your point!” The Count shoved Krytfield’s hands away from him and quickened his pace. He muttered to himself as they speed-walked through the corridors. “Well if I can’t go after David myself, then you’ll have to do it.”

“I’ll have to what, sir?”

“You’ll have to drive down to that blasted village and get him back!”

“But, sir. I’m incapable of harming anybody!”

“You don’t need to harm anybody! Just go down there, grab him and bring him back with you! You’re indestructible remember?”

“But, sir!”

“What else can we do, Krytfield? You can’t expect me to wait until tonight to go after him! They could be anywhere by then!”

“But…” The butler’s hands flapped around nervously as the Count fumbled with the doorknob to his quarters.

“Stop trying to argue with me, and just go and get him!”

“But… by myself, sir?”

“Take one of the Skutters with you! Or Señor Gato! I don’t care what you do, just GET DAVID BACK!”

The door slammed in Krytfield’s face and the butler sighed heavily. “Of all the families with mad scientists that I could have been reanimated into,” he muttered as he walked away, “I had to be reanimated into this one!”

 

* * *

 

Kristine looked down at Lister helplessly as he moaned and twisted in discomfort on the carriage seat. At first she’d thought it had been due to the horrible smell of the garlic wreaths, but tossing them out of the carriage hadn’t helped. He’d been acting this way ever since they’d left the village, but he was still unconscious and wouldn’t respond to any of Kristine’s entreaties.

She smoothed down the curls on his head and noticed him weakly attempting to raise his hands up to his chest. She pushed back his jacket and saw the wooden crucifix that Doamnă Bunică had given him resting against his bare skin. With some alarm she realized that the area underneath the crucifix was angry and reddened. She quickly pulled the crucifix over his head and tossed it away.

 _How strange, s_ he thought. _Some sort of allergic reaction to the wood perhaps?_ With the crucifix no longer in contact with his skin, Lister grew quiet once again. Kristine looked down at him and a chill crawled its way up her spine as they continued their journey to Bucharest.

 

* * *

 

“Oh this is a nightmare,” Krytfield muttered to himself as he walked quickly through the castle corridors. “Mister Lister has been taken, and I have to go and play the hero! I’m no hero! If a hero needs some mopping up done, or a nice service laid out for tea, then I’m your man! And where are the Skutters? I haven’t seen them since dinner!” He put his hands on his hips and huffed. “Doesn’t anybody besides me do anything USEFUL around here?” He sighed in resignation as he walked up to the door of Señor Gato’s quarters.

“Señor?” Krytfield called out as he knocked politely. “Señor Gato, are you in there?” There was nothing but silence.

“Señor Gato, sir?” Krytfield rapped his knuckles harder on the door. “I hate to disturb you, but this is very important!”

After a moment’s pause, a thoroughly irritated voice replied, “Nothing, eez more important than my beauty sleep, Señor Krytfield!”

“But, Señor Gato! Mister Lister has been kidnapped and I need your help!”

“What do I care if Mister Lister is taking a nap! At thees early hour we should all be taking naps!”

“No, sir. He’s not taking a nap, he’s been abducted!”

“I don’t care what Mister Lister is doing with ducks! As far as I care, they can have him. I am going back to sleep!”

“Not ducks, Señor Gato. He’s been… oh forget it!” Krytfield flung his arms up in frustration and stomped back down the hall when the loud bang of an iron knocker suddenly rang through the castle.

“Oh who on earth could that be at this hour?” Krytfield shook his head as he headed to the front door. “First a marauding madwoman with a crossbow, what’s next? A whole group of villagers with torches and pitchforks?” The knocker sounded again and Krytfield quickened his pace, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He slid back the panel in the front door and was relieved to see a familiar face. “Oh! Mister Petersen, thank goodness it’s only you!”

“Sorry to have come to the front door, no-one answered at the kitchens. I’ve got your order of you know what,” Petersen said gravely in his thick Danish accent as he tapped the side of his nose.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Krytfield slid the panel back into place and quickly unbolted the door to let the butcher in. “I’m sorry no-one was in the kitchen, things are a little bit out of sorts here today.”

“Is it something to do with that young Mister Lister who was visiting?” Petersen grunted as he lifted a heavy wooden crate and carried it into the hall.

“Why would you say that?” Krytfield asked as he took the crate from the butcher.

“It’s just that on my way out here, I happened to see him loaded onto a carriage. He didn’t look at all well.”

Krytfield’s heart dropped and he sagged under the weight of the crate. “Do you know where they were taking him?”

“Well I can’t be sure, but it looked like they were probably heading for Bucharest. They left by the main road.”

“Oh heavens! This is terrible! I must go and tell His Excellency!” Krytfield dropped the crate in the hallway and turned to leave.

“Could I have my money first?”

Krytfield balled his hands into fists as he choked back his irritation. “Of course, just let me get my purse.”

 

* * *

 

“Your Excellency?” Krytfield cleared his throat delicately as he knocked on the interior door to the Count’s quarters.

“Why in God’s name are you still here? Why haven’t you left yet?” The Count’s irritation was clear, even through the muffler of the curtains and the thick wooden door.

“Yes, well there’s just one tiny eensy weensy little problem that’s come up, sir.”

“And what might that be?”

“Mister David is not in the village anymore. They’ve already left to take him to Bucharest. They’re probably on a train by now.”

“WHAT?”

“Mister Petersen saw them leaving hours ago. There’s no way I could catch up to them in time.”

There was dead silence for several seconds. Then an infuriated shout. “SMEG! SMEG, SMEG, SMEG, SMEG, SMEGGITY SMEG!!”

“Yes, my feelings were much the same, sir.”

There were several more seconds of incoherent shouting, dotted here and there with numerous curse words.

“Yes, this is all very upsetting, sir.”

The curse words were suddenly punctuated by several crashes and thuds as the infuriated Count began to kick his bed.

“Shall I make other plans then, sir?”

There was a drawn out groan and one last kick before the Count responded. “Yes, start packing up my things.”

“Your things, sir?”

“Yes, my things! There’s no sense in waiting around here now that they’ve taken David away. We’ve got to follow them!”

“But follow them to where, sir? We’ve no idea where they might have gone!”

“Well isn’t it obvious? She’ll be taking him back to England! We’ve just got to go after them. Moving day is coming early!”

“But, sir! We’re not prepared to move yet! Everything still needs to be boxed up, we’ve got your affairs to put in order…”

“I’ve already taken care of all that!” The Count barked from behind the door. “The paperwork for the property in England is already signed and sent off to the agency. And we don’t need to pack up everything now, we can have the Skutters box up and ship the rest.”

“But, sir shouldn’t we…”

“Just do as I say, Krytfield! I want to be ready to leave by nightfall!”

Krytfield let out an enormous sigh as he rested his forehead wearily against the door. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later an exceedingly tired and put out Krytfield groaned as he tossed the last of the Count’s suitcases into the luggage compartment of the carriage. “Finally, that’s the last of it.” He rested his head against the polished wood for a moment before a shriek pierced its way through his ear.

“Señor Krytfield!”

The butler jumped in surprise as he opened his eyes to see Señor Gato’s anxious face. “Where is dinner? I’ve been waiting een the dining room for almost five whole minutes!”

“There’s no dinner tonight, Señor. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? Mister Lister has been taken from the castle and I am leaving with the Count to go after him once the sun is completely down.” Krytfield pointed up at the sky before he shut the luggage compartment and began to make his way back to the castle.

“Leaving?” Señor Gato’s eyes widened as he followed the butler anxiously. “But that means you won’t be here making dinner een the evenings?”

“You are a grown man, Señor Gato. I’m certain you can fend for yourself.” Krytfield rolled his eyes in disbelief as he stepped through the castle door.

“But Señor Krytfield, I am a busy man! How will I have time for all of my sewing if I have to cook for myself?”

“The Count will no longer have any need for your services. He’s not coming back to the castle.”

Señor Gato stiffened as he let the statement sink in. “Not. Coming. Back?”

“No Señor, he’s decided to move to England a bit sooner than originally anticipated.”

“But… Señor Krytfield, te lo suplico! You cannot leave me here by myself! How will I eat?”

Krytfield sighed as he moved more swiftly down the corridor, attempting to distance himself from the mournful Señor. “Perhaps you can ask the Skutters to make you a sandwich.”

“A sandwich? Oh Dios mío!” Señor Gato suddenly quickened his pace, grabbed Krytfield by the shoulders and swung him around to face him. “There is simply no other choice here, Señor Krytfield. I must come with you!”

“Come with us, sir?”

“Si! The Count, he will still need a tailor while he is in England will he not? And there is no tailor in England who can match my skills!” The Señor flashed a dazzling smile as he fingered the embroidered lapels on his turquoise suit.

“Señor Gato, I really think it’s best if…”

“I weel not take no for an answer, Señor Krytfield!” Señor Gato’s face suddenly crumpled into that of a petulant child having a sweet taken away as he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Krytfield’s leg. “I don’t want to stay here by myself! Please let me go with you!”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, fine! You can come with us.” Krytfield frowned as he shook Señor Gato off of his leg. “But you’ll have to ride in the front with me.”

“Si, Señor Krytfield! You are most genitals!”

“GENEROUS! Señor Gato! You mean GENEROUS!”

“Oh yes, si!”

“I suppose it will be easier having someone to help carry His Excellency’s coffin around.”

“I’ll go and pack my things then!” Señor Gato shouted happily as he ran off to his quarters.

“No more than one small suitcase though, Señor!”

There was a screech of a Cuban heel against the hallway floor as Señor Gato turned to Krytfield with disbelief. “One… small… suitcase?”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve made sure to pack all of my things?” The Count nervously adjusted his cuffs as he made his way through the castle with Krytfield at his side.

“Yes, Your Excellency, everything that the carriage would allow for. Your coffin does take up a considerable amount of space.”

“Yes, yes I’m aware of that Krytfield. Let’s stop dilly dallying and get on our way then!”

“There’s just one more thing, sir.”

“What?! Every moment we wait David gets further and further away!”

“I do realize that, Your Excellency. But we must inform someone that we are leaving so they can put your affairs in order.”

“Oh for god’s sake, well where are the Skutters then? Go tell them and then let’s get on with it!”

“That’s the problem, sir. I haven’t been able to find them all day. They seem to have vanished!”

“Well forget about them then! We can tell my infernal sisters-in-law. Let them deal with it!” Annoyed at having yet another problem that was delaying his rescue of Lister, the Count stormed off down the hallway, Krytfield trailing after him.

The Count rapped sharply on the door to the ladies’ quarters, grinding his teeth in annoyance when there was no response. He rapped again and again was greeted with silence.

“They’re not answering, sir.”

“I bloody well realize that, Krytfield! They’re probably still asleep. They’re incorrigibly lazy, just like my good-for-nothing brothers. Open the door will you?” The butler fumbled a large ring of keys out of his pocket and quickly unlocked the door. It took only a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness as they stepped into the room’s curtained interior. At the sight that greeted them, Krytfield clapped his hand over his eyes and the Count crossed his arms over his chest while he shook his head in disgust. “Well I can’t say I’m totally shocked. They never were particularly fond of the animal blood.”

“Oh, sir. It’s just… it’s unspeakable! Are my cocktails really so terrible that they would turn to… to this?” Krytfield shuddered behind his hand as he tried to erase the mental picture from his head. Both of the Skutters were splayed across the bed while the three vampires fed lazily from them.

“I must say I did think they had slightly better taste.” The Count walked over to the bed and gestured to the same woman who had nearly taken a bite out of Lister months back. “The Skutters? You really couldn’t find anyone better to feed on than them?”

She hissed at the Count as she pulled away from Bald Curtains’ neck and licked happily at her fangs. “They offered themselves up to us willingly!”

“Is that true?” Krytfield uncovered his eyes and scornfully looked down at Blond Toupee who had his head nestled in the bosom of the petite redhead who continued to suck at his neck unperturbed. Blond Toupee merely shrugged his shoulders at Krytfield before settling back and smiling up at the vampire.

“Oh forget it, it doesn’t even matter. Leave them to it!” The Count waved his hand dismissively before turning with a dramatic swirl of his cape and leaving the room.

“But, sir?” Krytfield sputtered as he followed the Count out of the room. “What about all your things? The family heirlooms?”

“To hell with those things, and to hell with my family. I’d like to see the look on my dear Mother’s face when she finds out that her estate has been left to two idiot servants and her dead sons’ idiot girlfriends. Nothing matters except getting David back. We’re leaving now, Krytfield.”

The butler, overwhelmed at the thought of the castle and its well-tended grounds being left to the vampires and the enthralled servants, sighed sadly as he put the ring of keys back into his pocket. “Very well, Your Excellency.”

Quickly they made their way down to the courtyard where the packed carriage was waiting along with the Count’s coffin and a very despondent Señor Gato.

“Only one suitcase!” He moaned as he gazed up into the starry sky as if looking for salvation. “All my beautiful suits left behind! ¡es una pesadilla!”

“What the smeg is he doing here?”

“It would be prudent to have someone else along to help with moving your coffin around, Your Excellency. I know it’s not an ideal arrangement but…”

“Yes, yes, yes, alright! Just stop blithering on and let’s get going already!”

“Of course, sir. Right away.” Krytfield sighed as the Count laid down in the coffin and he closed the lid over him. The butler gestured to Señor Gato and the two grunted as they lifted the coffin together.

“¡Santo cielo! I hope I do not break a nail! I just gave myself a manicure!” Krytfield bit back some choice curse words that he was far too polite to actually say as they squeezed the coffin into the carriage and slammed the door.

“And be careful!” The Count’s muffled voice grumbled.

“Of course, Your Excellency.” Krytfield gave one last beleaguered groan before he clambered into the driver’s seat next to Señor Gato and spurred the horses on. They lurched forward, their hooves clacking across the cobblestones.

From a tower window, high above the courtyard Bald Curtains let out a great sigh of relief as he watched the carriage roll through the gate. “Thank goodness that lot have gone,” he said in a thick Yorkshire accent.

“I know!” Blond Toupee agreed as he grinned from the vampire woman’s bosom. “Now we can finally have some fun!” The vampires and their enthralled servants cackled with glee as the carriage disappeared into the Carpathian mountains.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Janamelie.

**Kristine Kochanski's Journal - July 10th**

_Five days back in London now and David's health is showing little sign of improvement. Doctor Brannigan has finally decided to give him a blood transfusion after being hesitant due to the potential risks._

_It can't be soon enough, in all honesty, not only for his physical health but also his mental wellbeing. I keep anticipating an outburst from him regarding the manner of his departure from Transylvania, but he simply stares at me with accusing eyes and mumbles words in his sleep which I cannot bring myself to commit to paper._

_Sad though it makes me to write this, I can no longer pretend to myself that I wish to marry him for any other reason than to honour Father’s memory. He is like a brother to me, not a lover. Now that his affectionate former self has been replaced by this resentful stranger, it is as though the scales of romance have fallen from my eyes._

_Nevertheless, I pray that something can restore David to health and his usual good cheer..._

 

Kristine entered the bedroom as quietly as she could and looked down at her sleeping former fiancé. The transfusion seemed to have done him some good; his cheeks had more colour in them and his breathing was less laboured than it had been during the stressful, heavily medicated journey.

She was almost at the door again when he spoke. “Kristine?”

She jumped guiltily. “David! Are … are you feeling better?”

Something in David’s gaze made her uneasy for a reason which she couldn’t quite define. “A bit, but I really need a cigarette. Could you get ‘em?”

She briefly wondered whether he was in sufficiently good health to smoke given that his appetite had barely improved since they had left Transylvania. On the other hand, this was the first time he had been well enough to think of asking for them, which was surely a good sign. “Alright.”

As she fumbled in the pockets of his jacket, her fingers brushed what felt like a small book. Locating his cigarette case and matches in the other pocket, she handed them to him with a sad glance at the engraved dedication on the former item. It felt like a lifetime ago in terms of her hopes and expectations when she had chosen it.

She wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or not by the sheer gusto of David’s enjoyment of the cigarette. In no time he had lit another. As tendrils of smoke departed his lips, she tried to think of a word to describe how his expression differed from the usual when he indulged this habit. Sated rather than satisfied?

Once he had drifted back into slumber, she tiptoed back out into the corridor, surreptitiously clutching the little book.

 

_How To Recognise A Vampyre _the book cover proclaimed in portentously Gothic script. The first page added the subtitle _"And Protect Yourself And Your Loved Ones From Their Unholy Thirst".___

Kristine rolled her eyes. If this was the kind of thing David had been reading to while away the quiet Transylvanian evenings, no wonder his imagination had started running away with him.

She skimmed her way through the luridly illustrated book. It put her in mind of the penny dreadfuls which the kitchen staff back in Liverpool sometimes giggled and tutted at.

But this one clearly had pretensions to academic credibility. Not only was it written by one Doctor Von Krankheit - whose other publications in a similar vein were listed at the back - but those thanked in the dedication included Professor Van Todhunter, Chair of Psychiatry at Hooper College, Cambridge.

She went back to the first page and carefully read through, stopping dead at a chapter entitled _Encroaching Vampyrism._

_There are various indications when a human is attacked by a vampyre whose intention is not merely to feed and kill, but to slowly drag their victim down into the depths of depravity with them and ultimately turn them, swelling the unholy ranks of the Undead._

_In these instances, the vampyre will charm its victim in a ghastly parody of courtship, culminating in a series of night-time assaults which are framed as seduction. The hapless victim may genuinely believe that they are in love and beloved in return. But the devilish reality manifests as the human loses more and more blood and their health begins to fail._

 

Kristine stopped reading, her fingers trembling. She stared unseeing at the corresponding illustration of a demonic figure, half in shadow, looming over a slumbering young woman with tumbling golden tresses and an ample bosom. It couldn’t possibly…

 

_It may at first be difficult to distinguish these symptoms from those associated with commonplace afflictions such as anaemia. Signs of semi-vampyrism to look out for include a marked change in personality when conscious. The victim may also talk in their sleep, possibly incomprehensibly or worse, indecently. As the vampyre’s damnable curse strengthens its grip, glimpses of the awakening demon within will start to manifest during consciousness as well._

_But the most damning proof of semi-vampyrism can be obtained by the simple method of pressing a cross or crucifix against any area of the patient’s bare skin. They will experience mild to moderate pain and discomfort as it causes soreness and leaves scarlet marks._

_Do not despair if this happens, as a full vampyre will not be able to bear the slightest contact with a crucifix and will recoil at the mere sight. A semi-vampyre may yet recover their health and be restored to their loved ones and the grace of our Lord with no lasting ill effects._

_This can be done by protecting their residence and especially their bedchamber with crucifixes and garlic until they are restored to health, which can only happen permanently once the vampyre preying upon them is vanquished. It must be killed, either by exposure to sunlight or a wooden stake driven through its heart._

 

Kristine closed the book with a thump and headed over to the study, where she rifled through her father’s desk until she found the latest telephone directory.

“Hello, is that Blood Moon Books? I am attempting to get in touch with one of your authors, Doctor Ludwig Von Krankheit.”

She listened impatiently as the secretary made enquiries.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kochanski, but it seems Doctor Von Krankheit passed away twelve years ago. I could put you in touch with his executors, perhaps?”

Kristine bit back an unladylike curse word. “No, I don’t think that would help. Wait, what about his associate, Professor Van Todhunter?” She flicked to the dedication page. “Chair of Psychiatry at Hooper College, Cambridge? He was thanked in the notes of one of Von Krankheit’s books, _How To Recognise A Vampyre _.” She cringed at having to say the title aloud.__

 At the secretary’s suggestion, she hung up and waited for him to ring her back. It was a long and tedious wait.

 

"Doctor Van Todhunter, Miss."

Kristine rose eagerly. “How do you do, Doctor." Her confusion grew as she took in the man before her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and could not have been much older than thirty. However, his manner was quite at odds with his pleasing, youthful appearance.

"How do you do, Miss Kochanski.” The large hand which enveloped hers had a gentler grip than she had anticipated. Kind blue eyes peered at her through round spectacles. It was as though the man thought he was at least twenty years older than he actually was.

"Please do take a seat."

Once they were settled on the sofa, she cleared her throat. "Doctor, forgive me, but when I read the name Professor Van Todhunter in the dedication of a decades-old book, I pictured a considerably older gentleman than your good self."

The man smiled sadly. "Ah yes. The book was referring to my dear great-uncle, Professor Abraham Van Todhunter. Alas, he was taken from us just over a month ago. A pernicious bout of influenza, of all things to strike down one who lived as he did."

Kristine stared at him in horror and disbelief. "Oh no!" Remembering her manners, she quickly added: "I am most sorry for your loss."

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Forgive me for not explaining on the telephone, but I wanted to talk to you in person and reassure you that you are just as safe in my hands as you would have been in his. As he had no children of his own, he raised me in his household from a young age and passed on his knowledge of the paranormal to me. I have also studied conventional medicine at Cambridge, so I am more than qualified to take on his mantle." He beamed eagerly at her.

She tried to take in this information. "Forgive me, Doctor, but have you ever actually encountered a … a vampire?" She felt ridiculous even asking the question, but he replied as calmly as if she was talking about tigers or elephants.

"Oh, certainly! Under controlled conditions, of course. I studied a captive one before Uncle Abraham staked it. What better way to honour his memory than to continue his noble mission?”

Kristine decided to squash the doubtful voice in her head. The man was a qualified doctor, after all, and if the renowned professor was no more she would have to make do with his great-nephew.

She told him her story in more detail than had been possible on the telephone. He was a gratifyingly attentive listener, although she bridled slightly at his effusive praise of her bravery. Why were men always surprised when women showed a little mettle?

 

Lister turned his head as the door opened. "Doctor Van Todhunter, David. He’s here to examine you."

Lister sat up, looking truly at ease in his surroundings for the first time since she had waved him off from Paddington all those months ago. He grinned charmingly at the man in the doorway. "Delighted to meet you, Doctor."

Van Todhunter's gaze travelled over Lister, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. "D - delighted to meet you, Mr Lister."

“So if you need to examine me, shouldn’t we do that in private?” To Kristine’s ears, David seemed to put rather too much emphasis on the words “examine” and “private”.

Van Todhunter cleared his throat. “F - forgive me, Miss Kochanski, but Mr Lister is right.” He looked apologetic and just a little nervous.

Kristine mentally shrugged. Let the man do his job and report back afterwards. She ushered him through the door, closed it firmly behind him and left.

“Would ya mind locking it?” Lister nodded at the latch on the inside of his bedroom door. “I mean, if I’m going to have to be naked…” His eyes were alight with mischief.

Van Todhunter turned pink. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Lister.”

“Sorry, Doctor.” Lister dropped his gaze, watching beneath his lashes as Van Todhunter approached his bed.

The doctor inspected the embroidered edge of Lister’s blanket with abnormal interest. “Your fiancée is most charming, Mr Lister.”

“Oh, she- Yes, she is. We … care a lot about each other.”

Lister’s easy confidence faltered. He looked suddenly guilty and uncertain before his head tilted upwards and his gaze abruptly returned to Van Todhunter, who blinked at the dark-eyed scrutiny. It put him in mind of a feline glimpsing sudden movement. “So do you have a fiancée? Or a wife?”

Taken aback, the doctor stuttered his response without thinking. “N - no. My life thus far has been devoted to the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Shame. All work and no play. You know, you’re the youngest doctor I’ve ever met.”

“I think we’re straying off the topic here, Mr Lister. I - I understand from Doctor Brannigan’s notes that the transfusion has improved your condition. Are you still feeling better?”

Lister shrugged. “Not as good as right after it. But better.”

Placing his bag on the bed, the doctor opened it. He fumbled inside it and eventually produced a thermometer.

“If you could please open your mouth for a moment; I just need to take your temperature.”

He slid the thermometer between Lister’s parted lips with unsteady fingers. “I’m sorry; it will take a few minutes to register so if you could just keep still until I get a reading.”

Van Todhunter waited, looking first at Lister’s mouth and then quickly averting his gaze. He mentally counted out three minutes to calm himself and looked back. Lister was looking demurely up at him, the thermometer poised between plump lips. He froze before eventually blinking and coming back to himself.

“99.5. Still too high, but at least it’s below 100 now. I’m sorry it took a while.”

“It’s OK, I’m used to having things in me mouth.”

“I’m sorry?” the doctor replied weakly.

“Y’know, cigarettes. The odd cigar sometimes.” He smiled angelically.

“Ah, of - of course.”

Lister had not broken his gaze. “You look a bit like-” His face fell. “Someone I know,” he muttered almost inaudibly.

Van Todhunter’s tone was careful. “Are you thinking of Count Rimmer, Mr Lister?”

A medley of contrasting expressions played out on Lister’s features - affection, anger, hurt and more - before his face again assumed a look so catlike that the doctor felt as though those mesmerising pupils should be crescent-shaped rather than round.

“You’re taller than him and his hair’s curlier, but there’s definitely a resemblance. It’s the noses, I reckon.”

Van Todhunter took a deep breath. “Tell me more about the Count, Mr Lister.”

 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, Kristine set down her book and peered out of the sitting room. It was indeed Doctor Van Todhunter, looking slightly stunned. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief.

“Are you feeling unwell, Doctor?” The day was warm, but not unusually so for the time of year.

“N - no. Perhaps a glass of water? It is rather hot.”

“Certainly. Do come and sit down.”

Once he had composed himself somewhat by removing, wiping and replacing his spectacles, he cleared his throat. “Mr Lister is a most … interesting case.”

“In what way? Is … is his life in danger?”

“Not immediately. But if what he was telling me is true, his body has been gradually weakened over several months by … regular blood loss, not only on the occasion when you, ah, found him and brought him home.”

Kristine decided to stop beating around the bush. “Doctor Van Todhunter, in your professional opinion, do you honestly believe that Count Rimmer is - or was - a vampire who was attacking David? And making David believe they were in love by putting him under some kind of thrall?” Her cheeks were deep pink by the end of her speech.

The silence made her look up. She was somewhat reassured to see that he was clearly just as embarrassed as she was.

“Miss Kochanski, I’m going to be frank with you. I don’t know. This certainly could be what happened. But the fact that you never actually met the Count, let alone witnessed him attacking Mr Lister, does leave considerable room for doubt.”

“ **Something** bit David, though. But I suppose it could have been a bat.”

They fell silent, pondering, before the same thought occurred to both simultaneously. “This book though. If David was reading that kind of thing in an isolated castle, surrounded by nothing but mountains and odd servants…”

“And the innkeeper - you’ve described how utterly convinced she was that the Count - and indeed his whole family - were vampires,” the doctor mused.

“She was the last person he encountered before reaching the castle too. Apart from whoever drove the coach up there, I suppose. Probably one of the Count’s servants.”

“It all adds up to a situation which could easily have affected his mind, unfortunately.”

“So, what next?” Kristine winced at how helpless she sounded.

“I know from my own experience - and much more extensively, that of my great-uncle - that vampires do exist, so I am loath to dismiss Mr Lister’s claims as those of a madman. However, I must confess that Uncle Abraham came to regret allowing his name to be used by Von Krankheit. Some of the readers of those books became so immersed in the idea of vampirism that they came to believe acquaintances or family members were vampires, or being preyed upon by vampires, and contacted him for advice and assistance. His sense of duty compelled him to take every case seriously, but many were based on extremely flimsy evidence.”

Kristine’s heart sank. “So you’re essentially saying that either David is a … a “semi-vampire” - or he’s losing his mind.”

“No, no - well, yes. But I don’t believe that either condition is incurable.”

Kristine snatched up the pocket book and leafed through impatiently until she found the page she wanted. “So this bit about “semi-vampires” - he says that they can recover their physical and mental health if the vampire which is the cause of their ailment is … is slain. Do you personally know of cases where this happened?”

“Yes. However, the only one I was actually involved in was my uncle’s very last case, where he encouraged me to study the vampire he caught before he staked it. A distressing affair indeed where an elderly man had died of what was wrongly thought to be an attack by some kind of animal. When he returned from the dead, he persuaded his grieving widow that he had been buried prematurely and she invited him into the family home.”

Kristine nodded at the book. “So it’s true that vampires have to receive an invitation from a member of the household in order to enter a home?”

“Providing the house is inhabited, yes. Sadly this vampire immediately attacked his formerly beloved wife, who was in poor health herself. The shock killed her before he could turn her. He then turned his nefarious attentions to his only daughter with the intention of turning her instead.”

Kristine felt ill. “But … this poor woman recovered once your uncle killed this vampire?” She shuddered with distaste.

“Indeed. When we first encountered her, her behaviour was very different to after the whole ghastly business was done with. We left her with as much peace of mind as was possible in the sad circumstances.”

“What a tragic case.” Kristine sighed, pondering. “But - in that case, that must mean Count Rimmer isn’t dead. I mean, that he’s still-”

“Undead,” the doctor finished gravely.

Kristine pushed the book aside and got to her feet, frustrated. “Oh, this can’t be true! It’s too fantastical. And I can hardly pop back to Transylvania to check, can I?”

Van Todhunter nodded. “In which case, my advice would be to consider the other possibility further.”

She sat back down disconsolately. “I never thought David having a mental breakdown would seem-” She stopped, ashamed of the thought.

“Since psychiatry is not my speciality, I would like to suggest allowing an esteemed colleague of mine to examine Mr Lister and give me a second opinion. A former tutor of mine who runs an establishment for the mentally disturbed.”

“An asylum, you mean?! I’m not sending David to one of those!”

“I’m not suggesting that for one moment. But Professor Mamet is a most knowledgeable psychiatrist and in the absence of my lamented great-uncle, the person I trust most with matters such as these. Although I should warn you, she doesn’t believe in vampires at all. That’s part of the reason I want to bring her in - I know her opinion will be unbiased towards the supernatural.”

“Well, that sounds- I’m sorry, did you say “she”?”

“I did. I trust that won’t be a problem? I assure you, she is fully versed in her field.”

“Oh, no. It’s not a problem, exactly… I didn’t realise women could even be professors.”

“Officially they can’t. However, Professor Mamet is the daughter of the Dean of Hooper College and insisted on being allowed to study and take the same examinations as the male students. She did so well and was so determined to forge a career in this field that she succeeded in her aims. However, there was still considerable hostility from many of her colleagues and a few years ago she gave up tutoring in Cambridge to set up her own establishment for the treatment of mental illnesses. It’s actually only ten or twenty miles from this very house.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of it. Mamet House?”

“Yes, indeed. So do I have your permission to contact her and ask her for an independent diagnosis?”

“Very well. But I will not allow David to be sent to any kind of institution.”

 

The following morning the doorbell sounded promptly at eleven. Kristine managed to hide her disappointment as the maid ushered in Van Todhunter by himself. “Good morning, Doctor.”

“Good morning, Miss Kochanski. How is Mr Lister today?”

“Much the same.”

“Well, that’s preferable to worse, at least. Professor Mamet will be here shortly.”

“Oh, she is coming? Why not with you, then?”

“I talked to her by telephone yesterday evening and she decided that as your house is so near she would get here under her own steam.”

“Under her own steam? Surely you don’t mean on foot?”

The doctor shook his head but before he could elaborate the bell sounded again. Overcome by curiosity, Kristine went to the front door just as the maid opened it.

“Good morning. Professor Mamet to see Miss Kochanski.”

The woman was clad in what Kristine recognised as a ladies’ cycling outfit. A long hip-skimming tweed jacket with loosely puffed upper sleeves and white cuffs, a white blouse with a cravat, knee-length tweed breeches, white socks and practical black shoes. Her hair was pulled into a straggly bun which was coming loose.

Since the maid appeared to have been rendered speechless, Kristine stepped forward and extended her hand. “How do you do, Professor Mamet. I am Miss Kochanski.”

The professor’s handshake was brisk but her smile lit up her face. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Kochanski. Would you happen to have somewhere I can leave this safely?” She gestured to her bicycle.

“Of course. Annie, ask George to put this in the greenhouse.”

“Frank, dear!” Mamet’s tone grew several degrees warmer as the doctor appeared in the hall. “I’m glad to see you in less sad circumstances than our last meeting.”

“My uncle’s funeral,” Van Todhunter explained after the two had exchanged a brief hug.

Kristine nodded sympathetically, thinking of her own father. “Do please come into the sitting room.”

 

“So how much did Doctor Van Todhunter tell you about David?”

“Just that he had a very interesting patient whom he knew I would be fascinated by, particularly as it involves a subject Abraham and I used to enjoy debating - the supernatural.”

“I understand you’re a sceptic?”

“Indeed. All the “proofs” he used to offer can be explained psychologically if one looks hard enough. Suggestion and imagination are very powerful.”

The doctor huffed politely. “If you’d only agreed to accompany us on his last mission, Professor. I had my doubts before that too but what I witnessed I cannot explain any other way.”

“This isn’t the time to play “What if”, Frank.” The professor turned back to Kristine, her clear blue eyes keenly attentive. “And what are your thoughts on such matters?”

“The same as yours until very recently.” Kristine launched once more into the tale of her adventures in Transylvania.

Professor Mamet listened with minimal interruption until she got to her discovery of _How To Recognise A Vampyre _. “What was Abraham thinking allowing his name to be associated with such sensationalist claptrap? Sorry, Frank.”__

 

Doctor Van Todhunter picked up the book and began flicking through it. “But Professor, there are passages in this which uncannily match Mr Lister’s symptoms. I witnessed his behaviour myself.”

“But as Miss Kochanski has just told us, she found this book in his jacket. He had clearly been reading it whilst staying in a remote foreign castle at the behest of a mysterious Count whom she acknowledges she never met. For all we know, the Count could have died a long time ago and had his demise kept secret by the servants or other interested parties for their own unscrupulous purposes.”

Kristine and Van Todhunter both gasped. “It couldn’t be…” “Surely not…”

“I’m not saying I’m completely certain, of course. But having heard your story, I can hardly think of a more ideal setting and situation to affect the mind of a young and naive person than that of Mr Lister when he visited Castle Rimmer.”

“David isn’t naive!” Kristine protested. “He’s bright and not easily fooled. And he certainly met the Count.”

“You’ve told us how the butler admitted keeping your letters from him and how suspicious the entire set-up appeared to you. How do we know the man he knew as the Count actually was?”

Kristine considered the contrast between Lister’s dreamy descriptions of the Count and their assumption prior to his journey that his host would be elderly. She couldn’t remember if Father had ever said in so many words that Count Rimmer was an old man or if they had simply expected him to be.

“Even if your theory is correct, that still doesn’t explain what attacked David and left him seriously wounded.”

“I would say the most likely culprit is the bat which the innkeeper was raving about the Count having supposedly transformed into. But I acknowledge that all of this is only a theory at this stage. I obviously need to examine the patient before making a proper diagnosis. I would prefer to do so alone, Frank.”

“Are you sure, Professor? His behaviour is … disconcerting.” Kristine stared at Van Todhunter’s flushed cheeks.

“You said you don’t think he’s physically dangerous and if I think differently I know how to handle these situations. I need to see his behaviour in a one-to-one context first.”

 

“An interesting case indeed, Frank. I’m glad you brought me in on this.”

Kristine set down her cup. “Annie, more tea for the Professor please. Would you like a sandwich or something? It is lunchtime, after all.”

“No, thank you. It can wait until we’ve talked this out.” The Professor settled into an armchair. “So, I take it Mr Lister isn’t usually in the habit of flirting with his doctors as though it’s going out of fashion?”

Van Todhunter choked on a sip of his tea and coughed until he was crimson. Mamet rose and pounded him on the back. “Easy, Frank. Water, please.” She nodded at Kristine who grabbed the pitcher and filled a glass.

“Professor,” Van Todhunter gasped after a few gulps, “p-perhaps Miss Kochanski might prefer it if we discussed the patient’s behaviour between the two of us? It c-can’t be pleasant for her to hear such things about her fiancé.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry, that was rather insensitive. Would you prefer that?”

Kristine’s hesitation was brief. “No, I want to hear everything or I’ll just be imagining worse possibilities.”

She stifled a pang of guilt at not being completely honest. Betrothed or not, there was no-one else left alive who cared about David’s welfare as she did or knew him better. “I must apologise to both of you on David’s behalf. The man I know is charming, certainly, and naturally gregarious. But never inappropriate.”

Mamet gave a nonchalant wave. “I’ve dealt with worse. All in a day’s work.”

“Indeed.” Van Todhunter took another long gulp of water. “So, Professor, do you think it might be a case of split personality? It’s almost as though he’s possessed.”

“I doubt it as I think it would have manifested earlier in his life. Split personality is usually caused by trauma in childhood and Miss Kochanski’s description of his behaviour as an adult until very recently doesn’t match the majority of cases.”

“There was trauma in David’s childhood though.” Kristine explained about the train crash which had killed Lister’s parents and the circumstances which had led to them sharing the same household.

“Interesting. That could have been repressed until the dramatic change of scenery in Transylvania and then triggered by something there. It would be unusual but not unprecedented.”

“This was a few months before Transylvania, but could the death of my father - his mentor in both his life and his profession - have something to do with it too?”

The Professor raised an eyebrow. “It most certainly could. The sudden loss of the most senior figure in his life might explain the fixation he has with the Count, whether or not the man he met genuinely was Count Rimmer.”

“So, what would you advise we do?”

“With your permission, I would like to try hypnosis.”

“What?!” Kristine stared at first the Professor and then Van Todhunter, who gave her a reassuring smile. “I assure you, Miss Kochanski, it’s less dramatic than it sounds.”

“He’s right; this is something I do fairly regularly with patients. I find it useful in getting to the root of their disturbance, providing they are receptive to hypnosis. Not everyone is, of course.”

“Could I watch, perhaps?”

“With respect, Miss Kochanski, I’d rather it was just Doctor Van Todhunter and myself as it tends to distract the patient if a family member is present.”

Kristine considered. At this stage, what further harm could it do? “Very well.”

 

“Both of you? To what do I owe this pleasure?” Lister grinned cheekily.

“Don’t get excited, Mr Lister. We’re just here to chat to you some more,” Mamet replied calmly.

“Why’s he locking the door then?” Lister gestured at Van Todhunter as he latched the bedroom door from the inside. “They usually only do that for bed baths.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but no bed bath. The doctor is going to listen to our conversation so we can discuss the best way to heal you together.”

“I keep telling ya, there’s nothing wrong with me. Or at least there wouldn’t be if I hadn’t been kidnapped.” Lister looked momentarily angry before being distracted by the Professor as she rooted in her bag and brought out a pendant. “Hey, what’s that purple stone called again? Amethyst?”

“Correct, Mr Lister. Pretty, isn’t it? Take a closer look.”

She dangled the chain a few inches from Lister’s face. His eyes followed the gentle undulations with interest which gradually changed to rapt attention. He became completely still, his entire focus on the gemstone.

“So what happened before you were kidnapped, Mr Lister?”

“He called me that at first too.” Lister’s tone softened. “He tried so hard not to let me in, but he wanted me too much not to.”

“Are you talking about Count Rimmer, Mr Lister?”

“‘Course I am. He’s so loving and good-looking.”

The doctor shifted slightly in his chair.

“I love ruffling his hair; it goes all fluffy. I love how his eyes can’t decide if they’re green or brown. And he’s so tall and slim. You’d never guess how strong he is just from looking. I tell ya, vampire strength is something.”

“Tell me more,” the Professor prompted gently.

“I love how he can just pick me up as though I weigh next to nothing. I remember one time he did that in our bedroom - just scooped me up and carried me over to the bed and started stripping my trousers off.”

Van Todhunter’s fidgeting became more pronounced. Mamet gave him a stern glare.

“He was too frantic to take ‘em all the way down so they were caught around my knees. Then he started kissing and licking up my thighs. It nearly drove me out of my-”

The doctor’s chair scraped back. “I’m sorry! I need fresh air!”

He rushed to the bedroom door and rattled desperately at the latch. Mamet exclaimed in exasperation as Lister blinked and began to come round. “Really, Frank!”

Van Todhunter’s shaking fingers finally remembered how to work the latch. “Sorry, Professor. Not feeling well!” The door slammed behind him.

The Professor sighed, torn between annoyance and amusement. Poor dear Frank. Such a bright boy and yet so unworldly.


	17. Chapter 17

“HWOOOARRKK!!” There was a sudden loud splash that mingled with the sound of the waves breaking on the bow of the ship.

“That’s right, Your Excellency. Just let it all out,” Krytfield’s soothing voice seemed out of place, like a flute gently fluttering during an intense brass crescendo as the Count’s retching continued.

“Oh god, is it ever going to stop? I can’t… HWOAAARKK!” Krytfield patted dutifully at the Count’s back as he hung limply over the edge of the ship.

“The ship’s doctor said that sea sickness just has to run its course, sir. It’s been several days now, so I’m sure the end must be in sight.” Krytfield reached into his pocket for a fresh handkerchief and gently tapped it against the Count’s shoulder.

Count Rimmer’s normally pale face was tinged an unhealthy shade of green as he pulled himself upright. He grabbed the proffered handkerchief and clumsily mopped at the corners of his mouth. “I’m never going to forgive you for this, Krytfield.”

“Oh, sir,” Krytfield let out a heavy sigh and looked down at his shoes as if they could offer him moral support. “Please not this again.”

“First you let them snatch David away, then you book us on this insane journey!” The Count groaned and pressed the handkerchief back to his mouth. His cheeks puffed out comically as the ship gave a particularly dramatic pitch.

“Sir, I already told you that I’ve never booked such a far away trip before! How was I to know that going by ship was going to take so much longer than going by train? It was an honest mistake!”

The Count glared up at Krytfield as his head lolled weakly against the side of the ship. “It’s simple geography, Krytfield! It’s going to take us twice as long to get to David now. And it’s all your fault!” He pointed the handkerchief at the butler accusingly.

“What about Señor Gato, sir? He was the one who insisted that going by ship would be best!”

“And you were the one moronic enough to BELIEVE him.”

“How was I to know he only wanted to sail around Spain because he wanted to see if he could see his house?”

“I swear, sometimes you’re almost as idiotic as he is!” The Count grumbled as he flung Krytfield’s handkerchief down to the deck.

Krytfield’s features squinched into an angry grimace as he bent and snatched the handkerchief back. “With all due respect, Your Excellency, there is nothing that I can do to change our situation now. So unless you feel like finding yourself a NEW servant once we arrive in England, I strongly suggest that you DROP IT. Because quite frankly, I have had it up to HERE with your SMEG sir!” Krytfield’s blue eyes were electric with fury as he struggled to keep in his emotions.

“I have spent almost an entire week scrubbing sick out of your coffin, AND Your Excellency’s wardrobe. I have gone out of my way to procure you blood from the ship’s cook so you don’t have to subsist on nothing but the rats that live in the ship’s hold. I have had Señor Gato following me around the ship twenty four hours a day whining, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”. And on top of all of that, I’ve had to deal with you taking your anger and frustrations at losing Mister Lister out on me every single day. I have had ENOUGH!” Krytfield angrily hurled the handkerchief down and it landed on the Count’s shoe with a wet squelch.

The Count’s mouth hung open in surprise as he looked from the soggy handkerchief and back to the butler’s enraged face.

“The whole reason they were able to steal Mister Lister away in the first place, was because YOU were so cowardly that you ran away and hid in a cupboard. AGAIN. If you should be angry at anyone, sir, you should be angry at yourself!” Krytfield crossed his arms tightly over his chest as he glared down at the speechless Count. He stayed silent for a moment before spitting out, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Count Rimmer pressed his lips together in a grim line, as he guiltily avoided Krytfield’s gaze. After a moment’s pause he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the moonlit planks of the ship’s deck. “You’re right,” he muttered in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Your Excellency. What was that again?” Krytfield made a grand show of bending down and cupping his hand to his ear.

“I said that you’re right, Krytfield!” The Count shouted as he pinched his eyes shut in irritation. “Alright? You are right, and this is all my fault. Couldn’t you at least have the decency to shoulder some of the blame in this though?” The Count grumbled as he picked the handkerchief from his polished shoes with finicky fingers and tossed it to the side. “I mean what good is having a servant if they can’t at least take responsibility for your mistakes?”

“What was that, sir? Do I need to threaten you with handing in my resignation again? Because I’ll do it, sir!” Krytfield’s sea-spray teased hair trembled as his fury threatened to boil over again. “I’ll do it!”

“Oh forget it, Krytfield. Look I’m… I’m…” The Count squinched his face up in pain as if he was receiving an inoculation. “I’m sorry, all right? None of this was your fault and I’m entirely to blame. It’s just…” The Count sighed and dragged a hand across his hair, trying to smooth out the normally perfect curls that had become a nest of frizz in the ocean air. “I’m just terrified, all right? That’s the truth, Krytfield. I’m terrified that I’ve ruined everything with my cowardice. What if we can’t find David? What if I never see him again? What if I do find him and he hates me for what I did? What if… what if…”

Krytfield sighed as his anger was snuffed out by the Count’s pitiful display. He reached down and patted at his shoulder. “Please try and calm yourself down, sir. I’m certain that once we get to England and find Mister Lister that everything will be just fine.”

“Do you really think so?” The Count gazed up at Krytfield, the tiniest glint of hope in his bloodshot eyes.

“Oh certainly, sir. I mean all you did was abandon him at the first sign of danger, then hide yourself in a cupboard for hours allowing him to be kidnapped. It could happen to anyone.”

“Thank you, Krytfield. That's left me thoroughly reassured.” The Count slumped backwards, his head rolling against the ship as it rose and fell with the waves.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, sir. I do however recommend that you forget about your pride and prepare to learn the meaning of the word grovel.”

“Brothel?” A clipped accented voice suddenly piped up as Señor Gato joined the two men on the deck. “Who eez going to a brothel?”

“GROVEL, Señor Gato.”

“Grovel? Oh I hate grovel, it makes for such an unpleasant carriage ride!”

“Not gravel, Señor… oh nevermind. What are you doing here anyway? We told you to stay below decks.”

“I came to show you this, Señors! I caught eet all by myself!” Señor Gato held up a decidedly dead looking furry creature between his slim manicured fingers.

“For God’s sake, Señor Gato.” The Count said as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “How many times do we both have to tell you we’re not interested in this strange obsession you have with catching rats. I didn’t appreciate it back at the castle either. Do you know how many times I woke up in the evening only to tread on one of the little presents you’d left in front of my bedroom door? It completely ruins the night!”  

“Eez not a rat, Señor Count! Eez a lemming!”

“A lemming?” The Count pursed his lips into a frown as he stared at the furry carcass. “I hate those little bastards. Have I ever told you...”

“Yes, sir.” Krytfield sighed with exasperation as he cut off the Count mid-sentence. “We all know the story about you and your pet lemming. I’ll go and get you a glass.”

“And a slice of lemon,” the Count interjected as Krytfield took the rodent gingerly between his fingers.

“Yes, sir.” Krytfield replied as he shook his head. “And a paper straw and a splash of soda,” he grumbled under his breath as he walked towards the galley.

 

* * *

 

 “Oh please, sirs! Do be careful!” Krytfield winced as the dockworkers manhandled the Count’s ornate coffin into the back of the hired carriage.

“Relax, guv’nor. Don’t think this bloke’s going to mind a few bumps.” The worker laughed as he gestured pointedly at the coffin.

“If there’s any man you can rely on to not have a whinge, it’s a dead man.” The other man joined his fellow worker in his guffaws as they both gave the coffin a final shove and slammed the door on the back of the carriage.

“Oh good heavens,” Krytfield muttered under his breath as he paid both men with shaking hands. “Señor Gato! The carriage is ready to go! Señor Gato?” The butler poked his head around the carriage and saw the Señor perched near the edge of the pier, staring at a small flock of seagulls. “Señor Gato, for the hundredth time, would you LEAVE THE BIRDS ALONE?”

The Señor hung his head in disappointment as he trudged to the carriage and climbed into the seat next to Krytfield. With one last shake of his head at the Señor, Krytfield snapped the reins and the horses trotted down the street with a clacking of hooves.

 

* * *

 

“Sir? Your Excellency?” Krytfield whispered as he rapped against the lid of the Count’s coffin. “Night has fallen, sir! You can come out now!” Krytfield knocked once more before the coffin was suddenly thrust open. The Count’s hands gripped onto the padded sides as he pulled himself upright. Krytfield suppressed a wince at Count Rimmer’s appearance: his hair was in a state of criminal disarray, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and the smell of sea-sickness lingered in the air about him like a stubborn fog.

“I’m awake, I’m awake. Please just stop that unbearable knocking!” The Count groaned as he twisted his neck from side to side letting out a few satisfying cracks. “I could hardly get a wink of sleep in this thing, banging over all those dreadful cobblestones.”

“I am sorry, sir. I drove the horses as fast as I dared because I know how anxious you are to get to Mister Lister.”

“Yes, yes I know. Help me out of here would you?”

“Certainly, sir.” Krytfield grasped the Count’s hand as he climbed out of the back of the coach. The Count’s spine let out another impressive crack as he straightened himself up to his full height in the street.

“God it feels good to be on dry land again. Remind me to never take a sea voyage again.”

“I’ll make a note of that, sir.”

“Well where are we? Where’s David?” The Count looked about him anxiously; Krytfield had driven the carriage into a dark alleyway.

“We’re in London, sir. The law firm is just around the corner. I thought it would be more prudent to try to be a bit clandestine about our arrival, seeing as we still need to learn Mister Lister’s whereabouts. I would expect that his employer would know.”

“Good thinking, Krytfield. I’ll just go in, get the deed and the keys to Le Nain Rouge, and then casually inquire about David.”

“That’s probably for the best, sir. We don’t want to arouse more suspicion than we need. After all, remember Miss Kochanski does think that you were holding Mister Lister there against his will. Heaven knows what she may have told Mister Hollister about you.”

The Count grumbled as he straightened out his collar and cuffs, “Don’t talk to me about that Miss Kochanski. Stealing my David out from under my very nose. If I ever get my hands on her…”

“Oh let’s not get started on that again, Your Excellency. Please just remember what we’re here to do.”

“Yes, yes, all right.” The Count gave a mighty sniff through his nostrils as he shook out his cape with a flourish. “How do I look, Krytfield? Do I have the proper air of authority?”

Krytfield forced his lips together into a smile as he took in the Count’s unmanageable hair, the stains on his lapels, and the bleary look in his eyes. “Perfectly authoritative, sir.” He managed a tight nod as he thrust his crossed fingers behind his back. “Would you like Señor Gato and myself to come along with you for moral support, sir?”

“I’m going to get you little rattie!” Señor Gato’s voice suddenly rang out from a row of bins lining the side of the alley.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be alright on my own, Krytfield.” The Count turned on his heel, his cape following behind him with a swoop.

 

* * *

 

The Count gazed at the sign above his head quizzically. It had once read ”Kochanski & Hollister” but the name “Kochanski” had been hastily covered with a swathe of black paint. “Well he’s certainly wasted no time in forgetting about his recently deceased partner,” The Count thought as he pulled on the brass-ended chain that rung the doorbell. The door was quickly opened by an attractive, sensibly dressed young woman.

“Good evening. Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, I am here to see Mister Hollister.” The Count stood himself up to his full height as he noticed the woman taking in his rumpled appearance.

“I’m afraid that the office is currently closed, sir. Would you be able to come back tomorrow?”

“Tell him that Count Rimmer is here to speak to him on urgent business.”

“Oh! Yes of course, Your Lordship! Forgive me! We received your telegram this morning but it completely slipped my mind. Do come in.” She pulled open the heavy wooden door and gave a small curtsy as she gestured for the Count to enter.

“Thank you,” the Count gave a small polite bow as he swept past her.

“Mister Hollister's office is right this way, sir.” She led him down a short corridor and gently knocked on a large wooden door. “Mr Hollister? Lord Rimmer is here to see you, sir.” There was a sudden loud rustling of paper and the sound of a drawer being slammed before heavy footsteps thundered their way to the door. It swung open and revealed Mister Hollister. He hurriedly pulled the finger that he had been sucking from his mouth and gave the Count a wide smile.

“Count Rimmer, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” Hollister's voice practically dripped with false flattery as he quickly wiped his hand on the breast of a suit that was at least two sizes too small. The Count took the proffered hand gingerly as he looked at the small swipe of chocolate Hollister had left on his suit.

“The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure.” The Count said through his teeth as he plastered on a fake smile.

“Would you gentlemen like anything? A nice cup of tea?” The secretary asked as her eyes flitted to the Count's unkempt hair and reddened eyes.

“No thank you, I never drink tea.”

“Why don't you leave the two of us alone, Sara dear. There’s a good girl. I'll take care of his Grace.”

The secretary bristled visibly at Hollister's patronizing attitude, but bowed and closed the door behind her.

“A lovely little thing, isn't she? She can't type worth a damn, but who cares when they look like that, eh?” Hollister chuckled at himself  as he gestured to a heavy leather chair which the Count settled into. “Am I right, Count?”

“Mmm,” the Count responded non-committedly as he adjusted his cape around him.

“It is such an honor to have you here, sir. Cigar?” Hollister asked as he held a box out to the Count.

“No thank you, I'm really just here to get the deed to my new home and the keys. I trust all the papers I sent along are in order?”

“Oh yes, certainly,” Hollister said as he plucked a long cigar from the box, snipped off the end and struck a match. “We just need your signature on the deed and the property is yours.”

“Good, may I see the deed?”

“Certainly,” Hollister fumbled in his desk as he clenched the cigar in his teeth and sent pungent clouds of smoke wafting towards the Count. “I trust you had a pleasant journey to England.”

Count Rimmer wrinkled up his nose as he remembered the weeks at sea which had been anything but pleasant. “It was fine, thank you.”

“So you're from Romania originally?” Hollister asked as he continued to dig through the mounds of paperwork in and on his desk as he searched for the deed. “Your English is quite impressive.”

“Mmm,” the Count’s right leg began to jiggle impatiently. “How damn long is this going to take?” He screamed internally. “I need to find David!”

“I trust that Mister Lister was to your liking?”

“What?” The Count’s jittery leg suddenly kicked out at the desk as he looked around cagily. “What do you mean?” He chewed on his lower lip with one of his fangs, “Oh god, does he know? Is it that obvious?”

“I just mean was he a suitable business partner? Did he handle the transaction well?”

“Oh that! Oh yes of course, his conduct was… exemplary,” the Count’s pale cheeks suddenly glowed with the slightest tinge of pink.

“Wonderful, I’m glad to hear it. And I do hope he’ll be back to work soon. He is such an asset to the firm. Ah! Here it is!” Hollister pulled a leather case out of one of his desk drawers. “I forgot I put it there for safekeeping.”

“So Dav… I mean, Mister Lister, he’s no longer working with the firm?”

“He’s been on medical leave, he contracted some sort of illness while he was abroad.” Hollister began to shuffle through the papers in the case as he gave the Count a curious look. “I thought you would have been aware?”

“Er… yes. I mean no, I mean… I suppose he was looking a bit peaky there before he… left. So where is Mister Lister recuperating?”

“He’s been staying with Miss Kochanski as far as I know. Here is the deed for you to sign,” Hollister passed it over to the Count along with a fountain pen.

“Miss Kochanski?” The Count’s mouth grew dry as he took the pen with numb fingers and began to robotically write his small tidy signature.

“Yes, as Mister Lister has no other living relatives, and the two of them are to be married it was deemed the most prudent arrangement while he convalesces.”

“TO BE MARRIED?” Hot fury suddenly leapt into the Count’s already red eyes as he stabbed the nib of the pen down hard, skewering it to the desk.

“Well, yes.” Hollister’s eyes widened as he stared at the quivering pen. “They have been engaged for quite some time.”

The Count pushed himself up to his full height, and leaned over Hollister menacingly. “Where can I find Miss Kochanski?”

Hollister retracted into his seat like a snail into its shell. “She… well, I… I can’t…”

“WHERE CAN I FIND HER?” The Count slammed his hands down on Hollister’s chair and glowered into the man’s horrified face.

“Oh god! Please, please don’t hurt me!” Both of Hollister’s chins wobbled with fear as he raised his hands defensively.

“I WANT HER ADDRESS, NOW.” The Count poked his index finger into Hollister’s flabby chest and the man squeaked in terror.

“One hundred and twenty six Hawthorne Lane! Please, please! I have a wife! And children!” Hollister clutched his hands to his chest as the Count pulled away and gathered up the leather case and the deed.

“Oh really? Why isn’t there a wedding ring on your finger then?”

“Well I er… that’s…” Hollister guiltily covered up his ring finger as he stared at the Count goggle-eyed.

“God you’re pathetic,” the Count scoffed as he peered into the case and spotted a heavy ring of keys nestled amongst the papers. He turned and headed for the door.

“Wait, you’re… You’re not really going to hurt me?”

The Count turned back to the cowering man, his face alight with a sinister grin. “I got what I came here for. But if I hear that you’ve told Miss Kochanski or anyone else about what happened here tonight...” The Count curled up his lips into a grimace and bared his fangs as he hissed at Hollister.

“Oh, Jesus!” Hollister screamed as he covered his head with his hands. “I won’t say anything I swear!”

“That’s just what I thought you’d say.” The Count opened the door to the office and gave a deep bow, “Good evening, Mister Hollister.” He swept down the corridor, his cape billowing an elegant trail behind him as he passed Hollister’s gaping secretary. She poked her head into Hollister’s office as the Count saw himself out.

“What was that, sir? Did I hear a scream?”

Hollister was pulling a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler out from a drawer on his desk. “Sara, go get my diary and put an entry in it please,” he said as he poured the alcohol with trembling hands. “I’ve decided to take a long holiday. I hear Whitby's lovely at this time of year.” 

 

* * *

 

“How did everything go, Your Excellency?” Krytfield asked expectantly as the Count appeared around the corner.

“Everything is perfect, Krytfield. Just tickety-boo.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I know where David is,” the Count replied as he walked back to the carriage in long sure strides. “That Kochanski woman has him. She’s probably keeping him under lock and key. Let’s get out there now and find him. Have you got the map?”

“Sir, while I am aware of how anxious you are to find Mister Lister, might I make one small suggestion?”

“What, Krytfield? What could possibly be more important than rescuing David?”

“Well you could start with a sponge bath, sir. I hate to be crass, Your Excellency, but a bit of freshening up would do you a world of good.”

The Count patted at his frizzy hair self-consciously and looked down at his stained lapels. “Alright, fine. You have a point. We’ll freshen up, and THEN go and save David.”

“An excellent plan, sir. Señor Gato! Will you please stop chasing those rats and get back in the carriage?”

The Señor’s head popped out from between the bins lining the alley. “We’re finally going to our new home?”

“Yes, Señor. And His Excellency is in a hurry, so do get a move on!”

“Wonderful, Señors! I can’t wait to unpack the rest of my suits!” He exclaimed as he climbed out from behind the bins and eagerly scrambled into the carriage. “Can we stop at a chip shop on the way? I haven’t eaten in almost an entire hour!”

The Count frowned with distaste as he pointed at the spare bit of seat next to Señor Gato. “Do I really have to sit next to that imbecile?”

“Well it’s either that or you can get back in your coffin and ride the rest of the way in that, sir.”

“Alright, alright, fine.” The Count grumbled under his breath as he squished into the seat next to the grinning Señor. “But let’s stop waiting around and just get on our way. Who knows what could be happening to him right now!”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Krytfield snapped the reins and urged the horses back into the street.


End file.
